


Welcome to Aglionby

by RandyKorn



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blue&Ronan though hellz yeah, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT6, Other, Supernatural Shenanigans, every pairing except Blue/Ronan because ewww, pairings will be added as they crop up, see author notes for content warnings - they're on a chapter by chapter basis!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-31 12:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandyKorn/pseuds/RandyKorn
Summary: Nestled against a backdrop of crisp Appalachian mountains, Aglionby University is just like every other picturesque college in America.  Except that Aglionby rests on the crossroads of two ley lines, and there are secrets lurking behind every twisted corridor.  Step in the right place, and you might find yourself face-to-face with a ghost, monster, or maybe even a sleeping king.  Follow the gangsey into their junior year of college as they discover one another, fall in love, explore the secrets of campus, and struggle to fulfill a fateful prophecy to stop an all-consuming demon from corrupting the town and everyone in it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is my fic for the TRC Big Bang 2019! I've got 4 chapters done for the event, and I'll have the rest up as I finish them :) 
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr @comfy-spot if you want more details about content warnings. I tag on a chapter-by-chapter basis.
> 
> Content Warnings - mentions of past character death

_Alright, my fellow students of Aglionby.  It’s with a heavy heart that I must sign off on this lovely Wednesday morning, but fret not!  I’ll be back next Wednesday at 3am sharp, ready to dazzle you with more brilliant music and fun stories to keep you going in your late-night study sessions.  In the meantime, remember to eat something other than chicken nuggets, and don’t forget to catch some Zs where you can! I know I’m going right to bed after this - this time slot is wrecking my beauty sleep.  But, ah, I love you all too much to stay away. It’s farewell from me, Aglionby, and time to welcome the illustrious Ganseyboy, come to expand your minds with tales of magic and mystery._

_Thanks, Henry.  I don’t think you’re in need of any beauty sleep, but I hope you have a good night all the same.  Ah, he just winked at me. That seems like a good sign. I’m going to start of the show with some calming Renaissance lute music, and then we’re going to jump right into our segment based around a little-known aspect of our campus’ rich history!  Tonight we’ll be focused on a terrible, fiery accident that occurred when Aglionby was first being built, back when the baseball field used to be an admissions building, and on the ghosts that are said to wander the fields when woodsmoke is in the air.  But first, let’s listen to John Dowland’s Frog Galliard!_

 

* * *

 

Henrietta, Virginia was practically drowning in psychics.  Most of them, unfortunately, were fake.

They were drawn here like moths to the flame, something deep within them sensing that there was something special about this town, something powerful, even if they couldn’t quite manage to tap into that power.

Gansey had started weeding out the big-names first, quietly discrediting Mama Jamie with her bestselling book series, Camelo Porcello with their line of organic solutions to supernatural problems, Archer Flanigan with his hit reality TV show.  He’d done so quietly, of course - no need to create a fuss - but he’d soon found that they were all as fake as a three dollar bill.

The smaller, lesser known psychics hadn’t proved any more authentic.  The palm readers with fancy downtown shops, the police consultants, the folks performing séances for rich, grieving widows.  Every last one made broad, sweeping claims, alternating between hot and cold reads depending on his reaction - or, more often than not, his lack of one.

It wasn’t particularly difficult to pretend to be a psychic, he knew.  All it took was a bit of luck, a whole lot of charisma, and a lack of moral standards.  He hated to admit it, but the sheer number of fakes flooding Henrietta’s streets had grown discouraging over the years, as had the diminutive number of people who seemed to believe that magic was real.

Now he was left with the hole-in-the-wall psychics, the ones he had to truly search for.  Gansey didn’t view that as a bad thing, necessarily. He was of the mind that any treasure worth having would be a challenge to find, and he was certainly willing to put in the effort.  Besides, he would readily admit that he enjoyed the adrenaline rush that came with scouring the depths of rural Virginia’s advertisement world and finally discovering a new psychic, a new lead.

As long as Henriettan psychics remained undiscovered, hope remained.

Ronan called him gullible for continuing his search, declaring that the psychics here were obviously a waste of time, but Gansey refused to give up.  He knew the difference between someone putting on a show and someone actually communicating with magic, and he refused to settle for anyone less than genuine.  Even if it meant searching for his entire college career and beyond.

He needed a psychic, specifically one who was connected to Henrietta’s special brand of magic, for one very particular reason.

Gansey had a king to find.

He had died, you see.  And then he’d come back to life.

_You will live because of Glendower.  Be sure to repay his favor._

Magic didn’t get much more real than that.

Gansey’s king, Owen Glendower,  had fled Wales after a failed revolution in 1409, and though much of the world thought him dead and gone, a smaller portion listened to the rumors whispering that he was hidden away somewhere, waiting in a deep slumber for the right person to find and wake him.  After Glendower had saved his life, Gansey was determined to be that person.

Most of the people he had met while on his journeys were after Glendower for a wish he was rumored to bestow upon the person who woke him.  Gansey never took much interest in these people, or in the wish. No, he was after Glendower for a far more complex reason. A question, really.

_Why?_

Why save him, when so many other people died all around the world?  Why was he special, why was he chosen? Why was he alive, when others weren’t?

What was his purpose in this second life, this second chance?

That was what drove him to continue his search despite the lack of new leads in two years.  That was what drove him to scour the classified section of the local newspaper for mentions of a new psychic every day, what drove him to sit in the woods at midnight in the hopes of seeing something that would point him in the right direction, what drove him to stay up for nights on end digging through ancient texts for a single phrase in archaic Welsh that hinted at his king, his quest, his purpose.

Henrietta wasn’t a very popular place to look for a lost king - most people in these circles prefered to search areas like Ireland or the Bermuda Triangle, and while Gansey had poked around there during the summers, he’d eventually decided that this tiny town in Virginia was his best bet at finding his king.  It was a small chance, a hopeful shot in the dark, but Gansey believed with his entire soul that Glendower was within reach. He couldn’t afford to believe anything less.

A few years ago, he’d managed to dig up a few tenuous reports of Glendower and his companions being spotted in this area after their escape from Wales.  When he’d discovered that Henrietta was easily the most magically charged location on the east coast, and thereby the most likely location for an elaborate stasis ritual, he’d felt the strings of fate pulling him here.

And, of course, Gansey had died and been resurrected only a hundred-or-so miles to the north.

He didn’t believe in coincidences.

He had applied to Aglionby University as soon as reasonably possible, which served the double purpose of giving him four full years to search for his king while simultaneously appeasing his parents by attending a “suitable school for someone of his breeding.”

In his two years here, Gansey had become intoxicated with the contradiction that was Henrietta, Virginia.  A big town with a small-town vibe, constantly shifting and yet never changing. An old college filled with young minds.  New ideas mixed with ancient history. Magic melded with the mundane. And through it all, a thread of knowledge that this town wasn’t quite normal, that there was an energy that hummed through them all, even if most didn’t care to admit it.  

How desperately he yearned to find someone who would admit it.

Now, he stood outside a small Queen Anne house, double checking the hastily-scrawled address on the napkin in his hand.  There was a whimsical, handmade sign hanging from the porch, reassuring him that he was in the right place.  _Psychics._   He’d found them in a Facebook ad, and while that reeked of the commercialism he’d learned to be wary of if psychic spaces, he figured he’d be remiss if he didn’t at least give them a chance.  300 Fox Way was, after all, one of the only remaining psychic businesses in Henrietta that he had yet to check. There had to be at least one legitimate psychic in the slew of imposters. He just couldn’t lose hope that this time, he’d finally managed to find them.

If this place wasn’t his last chance, then it was very close to it.

He ascended the porch steps, noting the three rocking chairs surrounded by a wide variety of potted plants.  It reminded him of the Botanical Gardens in DC, but far more comfortable, far more intimate. Gansey raised his hand to knock on the light blue door, a small smile on his lips.

The door opened before he got a chance.

He was careful not to look impressed - he’d been fooled by doorbell cameras before - as he lowered his hand and offered a wide smile.  The woman in front of him was slightly shorter than him, with light brown skin and smooth, dark hair pulled back into a loose bun. Her brown eyes were bright, but narrowed as she looked him over.  There were smile lines scrawled into her face, but she wasn’t smiling now.

She was frowning.  Thoughtfully.

“Hello,” he said, sticking his hand out.   _First impressions are the most important part of any meeting,_  his mother’s words told him sternly.  “My name is Gansey. Are you the psychic?  I saw your ad on Facebook, and I’d like a reading, if you’ve got the time.”  He would have called ahead to make an appointment, as was only polite, but he’d long since learned that the extra time gave people the chance to google him and his family, using whatever information they learned to make their “psychic” readings seem more legitimate.  It wasn’t as though the Gansey Family Lifestyle was one that escaped the papers’ notice, after all.

She took his hand, frown disappearing as she laughed.  “Oh, don’t let Orla hear you say that. She’ll be so full of herself if she knows that ad actually worked.”

“I  _told_  you!” a voice yelled from inside the house.

“One customer is not - what were your words - flocks of bored tourists ready to blow their life savings so we can retire in the Caribbean!”

“This is the sixth customer who saw the ad, and you know it!  Admit it was a good investment!”

“Oh, bite me, Orla.”  The woman turned back to Gansey, still wearing a wide smile.  “You can call me Maura. Our reading room is right this way.”

The house was messy, but in the way that spoke of a lively household rather than a neglectful one.  Pictures lined the walls, displaying so many women Gansey couldn’t hope to keep track of them all. Blankets were draped over kitchen chairs, shoes were flung down the hallway, a deflated Happy Birthday! balloon floated forgotten in the living room.  He noted that Maura was wearing paint-splattered coveralls and flip flops, rather than anything like the colorful, dramatic clothing he was used to from psychics.

The whole encounter thus far struck him as very non-professional, and that put him at ease.

This wasn’t someone who was putting on a show.

That didn’t mean she was legitimately psychic, of course, but it was a start.

Maura gestured him into a small, dark room off of the main hallway, and he ducked inside.  It was cramped, barely containing enough room for the small, round table, four chairs, and tiny wall shelf that resided inside.  It was also ill-lit, setting off his internal warning bells as it was well-known that illusions and slight-of-hand tricks were far easier to pull off in poor lighting, but those misgivings were swept aside when Maura flicked on the overhead lights.  

Gansey sat where she directed, watching as she grabbed a set of tarot cards off the shelf and sat across from him, shuffling the cards absentmindedly as she studied him.

“What are you looking for here?” she asked after a moment.

“Answers,” he said simply.

She hummed, placing the deck in the middle of the table.  “Answers can be tricky. They depend so heavily on the questions.  Shuffle these while holding your question in your mind, then lay three cards face-up on the table.”

“You don’t want to know my question?”

“I’ll tell you if I need it,” she said.

Gansey nodded, reaching forward and shuffling the deck while he added another tally mark to the Possibly Legitimate Psychic column.  There was one major test Maura had yet to pass, one that every other psychic had failed.

Gansey held the question in his mind and pulled three cards.

_Can you help me?_

Maura ran her fingers along the  cards - Nine of Wands, Seven of Swords, and the Three of Pentacles - tapping the table thoughtfully as she brought her gaze up to Gansey.  “Is this a test?” she asked, raising a single eyebrow.

He shrugged, forcing nonchalance even as a thrill of energy ran through him.  Maura rolled her eyes for a moment before pointing to the cards.

“The Nine of Wands.  It’s reversed, which tells me that you’re questioning someone’s motives, either your own or someone else’s.  The Seven of Swords is upright, signifying that you fear trickery and deception from someone close. And the Three of Pentacles, upright, meaning you’re looking for collaboration in some way.  In total, I’m reading that you want something from me - answers, I’m guessing - but you don’t know if you can trust me.” She returned her gaze to him, her grin sharp and sly. “So,” she said, resting her head on her hand.  “Did I pass?”

Gansey blinked, an easy smile spreading across his face as he relaxed for the first time in what felt like years.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said, gathering the deck back together and placing it in front of him once again.  “I’d be a poor psychic if I hadn’t. Now, I suspect your further questions are more complicated.”

“I want to know about the ley line here,” he said, leaning forward.  “Any information you can give me would be welcome.”

Her eyes glinted steel as she took him in.  “Why?”

“I’m looking for something,” he said.  “And I believe it’s here, in Henrietta.  I need help to find it.”

“I have a question for you, first,” Maura said after a beat of silence, watching him like everything depended on his answer.  “Why are you searching?”

Gansey pulled back, his mind reaching for that moment in the woods, when his heart had stopped beating and his vision had faded to black.  When his life had emptied out and he had ceased to exist. When his chest shuddered and his lungs spasmed and that voice had echoed through his head, dragging him back to himself.  

“I have a favor to repay,” he said, finally.  “And a question to ask.”

 _Why?_   

“A king’s favor?” Maura asked.

Gansey started.  “Yes,” he said. “How did you know that?”  It wasn’t that he was impressed - he was quite vocal about his search for Glendower, literally broadcasting it over the radio waves at times, even if he never actually spoke about his reasons - but she sounded like she was quoting something, rather than referring to Glendower specifically.  She was fishing for something specific. Gansey just didn’t know what.

“Interesting,” she said rather than answering him, tapping her manicured fingers on the table for several seconds, not taking her eyes off of his face.  Finally, she stood. “I’ll be right back.”

He waited, listening as Maura yelled for two other women - Persephone and Calla - vaguely announcing that  _it’s starting, get your asses in here._

Three women soon filed into the room, peering at him with varying degrees of intensity.  Gansey tried to stare back, but he felt he was at a disadvantage.

The first woman sat to his right, her small, dark frame holding all of the fierceness of Ronan on a bad day.  She was dressed similarly to Ronan, as well, with sharp, tight clothing that showed off her muscular frame. Unlike Ronan, however, this woman wasn’t afraid of colors, sporting a bright yellow top that contrasted beautifully with her dark skin.  She scowled down at the cards on the table before sniffing disdainfully and switching her attention to Gansey. He sat up straighter, but felt sure that she would find him lacking for it.

The second woman, Maura, retook her seat directly across from him.  Gently, she rested her hand on the first woman’s arm. “Don’t scare him away, Calla.”

The third woman - Persephone, by process of elimination - breezed into the seat on Gansey’s left, eyes darting over the cards before humming, a light, whimsical sound that put him at ease once more.  She was dressed as he’d come to expect from psychics, or at least people who pretended to be psychics, with a colorful smattering of layered fabrics that somehow managed to coordinate.

“You think it’s him,” she said, bright eyes turning to Gansey himself.

“He said he has a king’s favor to repay,” Maura said.  “Those words exactly.”

“It could be a coincidence,” Calla said, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms.  “He could be trying to pay back a loan shark or something.”

“I’m not,” Gansey said at the same moment Maura laughed, high and free.  

“Does he look like he needs a loan shark?” she asked.  Gansey glanced down at himself, wondering what, exactly, that was supposed to mean.  “That’s why I called you in,” Maura continued. “We need to be sure.”

“Who do you think I am?” Gansey asked as Calla and Persephone each pulled a tarot deck from somewhere on their persons, placing them on either side of Maura’s.  “Why do you think I’m important?”

“Think of this as our own test,” Maura said, gesturing to the three decks in front of him.  “Shuffle and pick a single card from each. Focus on your favor. We’ll answer your questions if you pass.”

Gansey did so, shuffling all of the decks before pulling the top card from each.

Death.

Death.

Death.

Without asking, he took a deck in each hand and flipped them over, spreading them out on the table.  A normal assortment of tarot cards met him, not a single Death duplicate in sight. Goosebumps blossomed across his skin.  This wasn’t manufactured magic.

“Well,” he said slowly, trying to conceal his jackhammering heart.  “That can’t be normal.”

“Nothing about this is normal,” Persephone agreed serenely.

“Does this mean I passed?”

“Unfortunately,” Calla grumbled.

“Will you answer my questions now?”

“In good time,” Maura said.  “First-“

“I need a drink,” Calla said, pushing herself to her feet so suddenly her chair almost tipped over.  “His energy is too loud for me to handle sober.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever been told I have loud energy,” he said.

“This is the first time you’ve come to real psychics,” she spat back.  Gansey was far too used to Ronan’s tones to be offended.

“Fetch Blue while you’re out there, please,” Persephone said softly.  Maura glared at her, but Persephone only smiled gently in return. “She’s involved, whether you like it or not.  Her card is in all the readings. You have to let her grow up at some point.”

Maura grumbled something unintelligible before waving vaguely at Calla as she slid out of the room.  “I need alcohol, too.”

“I’m not your errand girl,” Calla said, flipping them both off with a ring-laden finger before shutting the door behind her.

“So,” Gansey said after a moment.

“So,” the women echoed.

“Who do you think I am?  Why is my energy so loud?  What’s starting?” The questions poured out of his mouth, a flood unable to be controlled.  Mom would have been disappointed, but Mom wasn’t here.

“You shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Persephone said.

Maura held up a hand, quieting whatever response Gansey had been about to make.  “We think you’re a king, one belonging to a prophecy. Your energy is loud because you have the corpse road inside of you.  This is your second life, a loan, and one that will be repaid.”

Gansey felt a pang, something echoing against the hollow space in his heart.  The hornet nest cracking under his foot, the insects swarming, crawling in his ears, his nose, his mouth as he cried and tried to wheeze out a scream through his swollen throat-

_You will live because of Glendower._

“Could you define, ah, repaid?”

“Not even if we wanted to.”

He nodded, unsatisfied with the answer but accepting it all the same.  The voice he’d heard when he was ten hadn’t specified  _how_  he was to repay Glendower’s favor, and Gansey had yet to puzzle it out.  It wasn’t much of a disappointment to simply revert to his plan of finding the Welsh king and asking him.

“What’s starting?” he asked quietly.

“The prophecy, of course.”

Gansey swallowed the bees crawling up his throat.  “Can I hear it?”

“In a moment,” Persephone said.  “There is someone else who needs to hear it, too.”

“Blue,” he guessed.  Maura frowned heavily, but Persephone nodded in confirmation.  Gansey wondered what kind of person named someone Blue. A person like Maura, possibly, if context clues were anything to judge by.  “What does she have to do with this?”

“A great deal, even if some are loath to admit it,” Persephone said, carefully refusing to look at Maura.

The door behind him flew open, and a girl around his age came stomping through.  “Listen,” she announced, rounding the table to stick her finger into Maura’s personal space.  “I don’t appreciate you guys thinking I’m at your beck and call every time you have a difficult reading.  I’m my own person, and I’d appreciate some autonomy in my own house!”

“Gansey,” Maura said calmly.  “This is my daughter, Blue.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said automatically.

Blue was small, five feet tall at the most, although her unruly hair may have added an extra inch or two.  It took him a second to decipher her clothes, but when he did, he found himself awestruck. Gansey hadn’t known that it was possible to wear clothes like this.  A necklace of old spoons and lace hung over a lumpy multicolored patchwork quilt of a sweater, all over at least three layered skirts and a pair of yellow and green polka-dot leggings.  The horribly mismatched socks were a nice touch, too.

She was the most interesting person Gansey had ever laid eyes on.

His first thought coherent was wondering at how loud his own energy must be, if they lived with this firecracker on a daily basis.  His second was that she was kind of cute. His third was that that may be a dangerous thought in a house full of authentic psychics.

“And besides all that, I was busy!” Blue continued, ignoring Gansey entirely.  “I don’t have the luxury of being psychic. I have no way of planning for these interruptions!”

“She was watching anime,” Calla said, taking a sip of her drink as she leaned against the doorway.  She hadn’t, Gansey noticed, brought any for Maura.

“That’s not the point!  I am not an object for you to use whenever you please-“

“Blue, if you’d like to renegotiate your rent, could we please do so when there isn’t a customer present?” Maura said, pointedly not looking at Gansey.

“Ugh,” Blue groaned, slouching against the wall and crossing her arms.  “Fine. Do your reading or whatever.”

“She makes us stronger,” Persephone said by way of explanation.  “Psychically.”

“I just hope she doesn’t make  _him_  stronger,” Calla muttered, returning to her seat.

“Let’s start over,” Maura said, swiping Calla’s drink and taking a swig, grimacing before handing it back.  “Blue, we’d like to introduce you to Gansey.”

Blue’s eyes raked him over, and Gansey didn’t like the way her nose wrinkled or the scorn in her voice as she turned back to Maura.  “Why?”

“You two are going to be…involved.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Involved how? Is this some sort of blind date situation?  Are you setting me up with him, because let me tell you right now, he is  _not_  my type, and any mother of mine should know that already.”

“Don’t be rude,” Persephone said, not unkindly.

Blue scowled, undeterred.  “You dragged me away from my work to set me up on a date with some rich-ass prep, and you don’t want me to be  _rude?_   Do any of you even know me?  I’m leaving.”

“We need you here,” Persephone said at the same time as Calla’s “Get out, then.”  They all started bickering amongst themselves, and Gansey slowly sunk down into his chair as he struggled not to listen too closely.

Any remaining doubts he may have had about this place being legitimate were quickly deteriorating.  No fake psychic business would risk such poor customer service. It was difficult to manipulate a customer into getting lost in the atmospheric charade when the customer was too busy wondering how to soothe this particular brand of family dynamics.

“Will you three shut up?” Maura snapped.  “This is why we have no customers!”

“We have no customers because people prefer easy lies to hard truths,” Calla snapped, leaning back and taking a large gulp of her drink.

“Well the yelling certainly isn’t helping,” Maura said.

“Maybe I should leave,” Gansey said, wanting to do no such thing.  Despite the intense awkwardness of the situation, he had too many questions that needed answers.  “I can come back later.”

“Sit back down,” Maura said, glaring at him.  Gansey did so with a soft  _plop._   “Blue, for fuck’s sake, we’re not setting you up on a date.  You two are involved in a prophecy. That’s all.”

“Wait,” Blue said, leaning forward and putting her palms on the table.  “Seriously? I’m actually involved in your magic stuff?”

“Well, his magic stuff,” Persephone said.

“Explain,” Blue said.  Then, after a look from her mother, “Please.”

“It’s complicated,” Calla said.

“Hard to explain,” Persephone said.

“Dangerous,” Maura said.

“Oh, my God.  Can you, for once in your lives, just give me a straight answer?”

“That’s difficult considering we’ve never once in our lives been straight,” Calla said.  Persephone high-fived her from across the table.

“Okay, okay,” Maura said, holding up her hands for peace, swinging her gaze between Blue and Gansey.  “We don’t know everything-“

“We hardly know anything, really-“ Persephone interjected.

“But I will tell you what we do know.  This boy is on a quest for a lost king.  This boy is touched by death. This boy will either save this town, or doom it.  And you, Blue, are going to help him do it.”

“What does that  _mean?”_  she asked.

“It means that there’s a prophecy,” Maura said, “that we’ve been monitoring for quite some time now.  It means that the cards say that you’re both at the heart of it. It means that you’re both going to face danger and decisions that will change you forever.”

“It means that it’s starting,” Persephone said with a laugh that struck Gansey like lightning.  “It’s finally starting.”

“The prophecy?” he asked, knitting his fingers together so hard that he feared he may break a bone or two.

The lights didn’t dim, the air didn’t grow cold, the table didn’t rattle.  None of the cheap tricks he’d grown used to over the past two years occurred.  If anything, the moment should have seemed as anti-climatic as possible with Persephone tugging on her hair, Calla rolling her eyes to the ceiling and downing the last of her drink, and Blue slumping back against the wall with an aggravated sigh, struggling to appear disinterested.  The scene, in any other context, would have been completely normal.

But Maura’s next words sent a chill down his spine anyway.

 

Three sleepers lie on the line,

Waiting for their time to rise.

A king’s favor repaid awakens the first,

Granting a wish that could save them all.

A king’s mistake awakens the second,

Unleashing power that will corrupt everything held dear.

A king’s sacrifice decides the fate of the third,

Who will he choose, and who will he lose?

 

A Court of Six will gather in the time of need,

Rising to banish the coming darkness.

The King to lead them,

The Magician to save them,

The Mirror to protect them,

The Dream to inspire them,

The Light to guide them,

The Heart to bring them together as one.

Each is vital for survival; without one, all will fall.

 

Three sleepers must awaken,

Three sleepers must not fall,

Three sleepers must rest once and for all.

The fate of the whole rests within the choices of a king.

Who will rise,

And who will fall?

 

Gansey’s ears rang, picking apart what he’d just heard and fitting it back together.  There was so much, too much.  _A king’s favor repaid_  probably referred to Glendower’s favor to him, to his second life.  It was how the psychics knew the prophecy was for him. Did this mean that he would finally find his king?  That he’d wake Glendower and find out why he’d been chosen, why he’d been saved?

Maybe it was all because of the prophecy.  Maybe he was meant for something more than inheriting a trust fund, after all.

The possibility sent fire racing through his blood, but it was soon quenched with other promises from the prophecy.   _A king’s mistake, a king’s sacrifice._   What would they lose to complete his quest, what choices would they have to make?

Would  _the fate of the whole_  rest with him?

Silence had fallen across the room, and it took a few seconds for Gansey to realize that they were waiting for him to say something.  “So,” he said slowly. “You think I’m the King.”

“You know you are,” Maura said.

Gansey had always been told that he was destined for greatness.  Somehow, he figured they’d been thinking more along the lines of CEO or Senator than waking sleeping kings and defeating nebulous evils.  He had a feeling this this kind of greatness would suit him far better.

“Then, Blue is…?”

“Someone who refuses to be categorized,” she said, turning her nose up into the air.  “What if I don’t want to be involved in this rando’s prophecy at all?”

“That’s not a choice you get to make,” Maura said, sounding distinctly unhappy.  

“That’s not how fate works,” Persephone said, far softer.

“Well,” Blue said, leaning back and crossing her arms while leveling a frankly terrifying glare at Gansey.  “I don’t care. I don’t want this. I don’t even remember his name.”

“Gansey,” he supplied.

“Great.  Go take your prophecy and get out of my house.”

 _“My_  house,” Maura said sternly.  “Last time I checked, you don’t contribute to the mortgage, Blue.”

“And our young king hasn’t paid for his reading,” Calla said.

“I can leave,” he said, significantly more willing than he had been the first time he’d offered.  There was so much to think about, so many new pieces to the puzzle. Even if he stayed, he wouldn’t know the proper questions to ask, or what the answers would mean.  “I don’t wish to be a bother. Blue, if you don’t want to be involved, then I won’t involve you.”

“Good.”

“I’ll leave my number here, so you can contact me if you change your mind.”  She rolled her eyes, but the prophecy’s words replayed through his head.  _Each is vital for survival; without one, all will fall._   He needed Blue, apparently, but he wouldn’t force her to help.  Especially when he didn’t even know what he needed help with. “How much do I owe you?”

“Five hundred,” Calla said.

Maura elbowed her.  “Fifty will do.”

Gansey pulled it out of his wallet and handed it over with no regrets.  He would have paid five hundred dollars for far less information than they had given him.  Fifty was nothing to him.

“I will likely return with more questions,” he said as he stood.

“We’ll likely be here,” Maura said.  “Can’t promise answers, though.”

Gansey nodded, accepting that.  He made a point to wave to Blue before he left, but she only scowled in return.  He left 300 Fox Way significantly more satisfied than he’d been when he’d entered it. humming to himself as he strode into the sunshine, pausing only when he was sitting in the cramped interior of the Pig, hands resting against the warm steering wheel.  For the first time in ten years, he had a direction.

Three sleepers to wake.  A king to find. A court to gather.  A darkness to dispel.

A prophecy to fulfill.

Gansey stuck the key into the ignition, twisting it until the Pig’s engine roared to life, thundering around him until he could hardly breathe.

_It’s starting._

 

* * *

Aglionby’s art gallery was in one of the oldest buildings on campus, its aged features blending together well with the school’s more modern additions.  Original hardwood floors swept underneath their feet, holding scars from days long past if you bothered to look. Old-fashioned lanterns hung against the walls, their flickering electric candle light providing a perfect ambiance for high-brow gatherings.  Spotlights on the high-beamed ceiling would soon highlight the artwork displayed while shifting the intricately-carved, wood-panelled walls back into shadow.

Blue leaned against the wall near her pieces, watching as the other artists mingled with the professors and several local art patrons in the center of the room, battling for conversational space to flaunt their superior opinions on the concept of art as a whole.  Everyone was dressed to the nines - this was Aglionby University, after all - but Blue found it slightly depressing that none of the other art students had taken the opportunity to show off their creativity in their attire. What use was a good impression if it made no impression at all?  

They all stood around munching on finger foods, admiring the room and the art in sweeping tones that were far more impressive than genuine.  Blue refused to debase herself far enough to join them, even if she was required to be present for the gallery’s opening. She had shown her face long enough to grab a few cucumber sandwiches before retreating to the solitary comfort of the shadows and her own art.  

Despite her lingering distaste, she couldn’t help the surge of pride to see her artwork hanging up on the wall with little informational cards below it.  Her name, in print, for all of Aglionby to see.

_Blue Sargent._

This was her first semester as a student here, although she was a junior.  In high school, she’d made a vow to never attend Aglionby University, because it was a well known fact that all Aglionby students were bastards.  But as she’d started thinking about her future, she’d realized something unfortunate.

Her beloved Central Virginia Community College held no programs that held her interest.

Aglionby, on the other hand, had Bachelor’s degrees for both environmental studies and fashion design, the two fields she could actually picture herself in.  

She had begrudgingly eschewed her morals and filled out the paperwork to apply as a transfer student, somehow managing to scrape together enough financial aid to make it all feasible.

Blue tried not to think about the fact that almost everyone else had just dropped a check off and coasted in without a second thought.  It made attending classes easier to stomach.

Beyond its well-documented supernatural activity, Aglionby was also famous for being an exclusive private university for the upper echelon of the world.  It was a temporary home to a horde of entitled rich kids who hadn’t quite made the Ivy League cut. Basically, if you could pay, you could attend. Or, in her case, if you were lucky and local and one of your moms worked in the admissions department.

She knew that most of the students and professors looked down on the scholarship and transfer kids, as though they were somehow lesser just because they couldn’t afford to vacation in Fiji every winter. Blue was determined to prove them wrong.

So what if she had to work odd jobs to pay for her textbooks and supplies?  So what if she had to work twice as hard to get half as far? If anything, that just proved she was four times better than they were, if her math was right.

There was a part of her that wished she didn’t hate Aglionby kids so much.  It would make attending classes a lot easier; but she had principles to hold to, and the students themselves generally didn’t make it difficult.  There were a few exceptions, but Blue was careful to keep her distance lest those tempting few ended up falling from her good graces to impale themselves upon her abysmal expectations.

Take that guy who had shown up at 300 Fox Way the other day - the prototypical Aglionby Asshole.  The one who had waltzed in and received a prophecy like it was his birthright. The one who acted like he was doing her a favor by not pushing her to accompany him on his quest.  The one who had the most pretentious name Blue had ever had the misfortune of hearing.

_Gansey._

What kind of name  _was_  that?

Indecision rolled in her stomach as the spotlights slowly turned on, illuminating her shadowy wall and signalling for the other artists to return to their pieces.  Blue watched some of the patrons break off from the party and start to peruse the gallery, all red ties and conservative dresses.

The truth was, she had always longed to be involved in something magical.  Growing up, she’d always heard her moms talk about scrying and predicting the future, how it was never specific, how it was always dangerous.  She’d listened to them spin tales of sentient forests and ancient ghosts, of hidden caves and other planes of existence.

It had taken Blue years of failed tarot readings and scrying sessions to accept what everyone else in the house had known from the moment she’d been born.

Magic hadn’t chosen her.  Not like it had chosen everyone else.

She wasn’t psychic.  She wasn’t meant to predict the future or see things that most people couldn’t.  She wasn’t special.

She was just a battery, an amplifier.  She just helped everyone else along on their magical journeys, rather than having her own.

For a brief moment in the reading room, Blue had thought that the prophecy was her chance to change all of that.  It was her magical debut, her entrance into a world that had previously been closed to her. It was her chance to prove that she could be just as capable as the rest of her family; just because she was different didn’t mean she was useless.

It was her chance to be included.

To be chosen.

Instead, the prophecy was  _Gansey’s._   Blue was just along for the ride, watching from the outside while he did all of the important, interesting work.  She was going to be a sidekick, rather than a hero.

And she wasn’t going to stand for it.

If she never saw that trust fund asshole again, it would be too soon.

Of course, that was exactly when he walked through the door.

He carried himself with a gravitas that drew half of the room’s attention, and Blue already sour mood worsened when she realized that included her.  His tan suit was well-tailored, showing off his toned arms in a way that made her scowl. She could tell how well his green tie brought out the hazel in his eyes from across the room, and she wondered if he had chosen it himself, or it he had a stylist.  Artfully tousled hair, immaculately shiny shoes, disarmingly charming smile. He was everything Blue hated about this place.

He was also beautiful, but Blue had long since learned that beautiful things were often the most dangerous.

His eye caught hers, and his smile widened even as her own scowl deepened.  A few of the event’s attendees reached out to chat with him familiarly, but he only stopped briefly before continuing to slowly make his way across the room toward her.

She sighed.

As he approached, she saw that the light fabric of his suit held a subtle patterned depth that spoke of European craftsmanship.  She looked down at her own clothes and tried not to feel inferior.

The paperclips and sequins had seemed like a good idea when she’d gotten dressed for the event, a way to distance herself from the stale attire everyone else was wearing.  Now, it just seemed gaudy.

“Hello, Blue,” Gansey said, too polite to be genuine.  “I didn’t realize you’d be an exhibitionist here. Are these your pieces?”

“Obviously,” she growled, jabbing a finger at the information cards.  Perhaps she should have been kinder, but his obvious lie turned any residual Southern Hospitality she had into dust.  What else could he be here for, if not to try and convince her to join his stupid quest? Before he’d showed up at her house, she’d never before laid eyes on him, and now she was to accept that he was simply here, three days later, at her first ever exhibition?

Blue was familiar enough with the way the world worked to know that coincidences didn’t exist.  Especially not when magic was involved.

“They’re very nice,” he said.

“They’re not meant to be.”

He nodded, apparently having no response to that, and she felt triumph spark through her.  Gansey didn’t seem the kind to be struck speechless very often.

After a moment of examining one of her pieces - her favorite piece, but she knew  _that,_  at least,  had to be a coincidence - he spoke.

“How much are you selling these for?”

Blue blinked.  “Why would you think they’re for sale?”  This exhibitoin was simply a showcase of a handpicked few of the upperclassmen’s talents, a way to get their name out into the local art world.  No one’s pieces were for sale, least of all hers.

“Oh, I just assumed you could use the money.”

“Why?” she asked, voice low with anger.  “Because I’m the only woman here? Because I’m the only Black kid?  You’re just assuming I’m  _poor?”_   A few heads turned toward them, and Blue hoped the negative attention would be enough to chase him away.

“That’s not-“ his eyes darted to her bottle cap necklace before returning to her eyes.  At least he wasn’t looking at her breasts, not that they were very visible underneath all the layers of cloth.  “I just meant that your art is quite good. You could probably sell these for quite a bit.”

“Don’t try to cover up your condescension with compliments,” she said.  

“That was not how I meant it,” he said, running a hand through his hair.  “I’m sorry, this was not how I wanted any of this to go. Can we start over?”

“No.”

There was a beat of silence as he looked at her.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Sorry would be a good start.”

“I said that already.”

Blue shrugged, not feeling the least bit apologetic.  “Then try ‘bye.’”

Gansey opened his mouth for a moment before wisely deciding to say nothing, instead nodding at her briefly before turning tail and running.

Part of her was disappointed.  She’d been expecting more of a fight.  Maybe if he wasn’t such a tool, she’d think about this prophecy of his.  But the promise of adventure just wasn’t worth putting up with such a patronizing twat, especially if it wasn’t even her quest,  _her_ magical adventure, in the first place.

In the next hour, more people than Blue could count came over to talk to her about her work - professors, school administrators, other students - but the conversations all grew stale after only a few minutes.  No one really seemed to get what her art was about, and even fewer people listened when she tried to explain, instead showing far more interest in what  _they_  thought of her art.

All anyone focused on was how  _pretty_  it was, as though that mattered.  No one stopped to question  _why_  she’d chosen such bold colors, such whimsical, abstract shapes.  No one took the time to look for a reason behind the beauty, to find the distinct thread of loneliness and longing that she’d woven into the canvases, to see the way she’d managed to mix love with distaste.  No one commented on her titles, either, names like  _St. Mark’s Eve, Corpse Road,_ and _Tarot._

She wondered if any of the other artists were having this trouble.  Was no one taking her seriously because she was a student, or was it because she was the only exhibitionist here without the money to back up her opinions?

Throughout it all, her eyes kept catching on Gansey as he moved around the room with an ease that she’d never be able to master, chatting with the other artists and starting conversations that seemed far less stilted than the ones she was stuck in.  For a moment, she was jealous of his ease in this space despite the scene she’d caused earlier. Maybe, if you had enough money, you were immune to embarrassment.

Then, curiously, he walked up to Ronan Lynch.

Ronan was one of the few Aglionby students that Blue hadn’t hated on sight.  Where everyone else here oozed snobbery and condescension, Ronan bled aggression.  His sharp glares and sharper words, his dark tattoo that curled over his shoulders, his combat boots and thick leather bracelets, his constantly bruised and bloodied knuckles - it all served as a warning.  One that most people were smart enough to listen to.

Even now, in a room full of people specifically here to talk to the art students, there was a clear bubble of space around Ronan and his work.  Blue would have thought it an act of God Herself if more than two people had talked to him tonight. His art was striking, begging to be examined, but Ronan paced in front of it like a rabid guard dog just begging for a reason to attack.

And there Gansey stood, facing him alone.  
Ronan would tear him apart.

Blue narrowed her eyes and her focus, completely brushing off Professor Gallegher trying to explain how Monet’s brushwork interacted with color choice as though she hadn’t spent the entirety of last semester studying the technique for her final project in Gallegher’s own class.

She walked off as he was in mid-sentence, sliding around the crowds as she headed straight toward the boys.

She couldn’t tell if the bees buzzing in her stomach was a sign of excitement or anxiety.

She didn’t want to analyze why she might be anxious for Gansey’s sake.

Then, just as she reached them, something curious happened.

Gansey gave Ronan a fist bump.

Ronan Lynch was not the type to participate in fist bumps.

Especially with people like Gansey.

Blue held back for a moment, observing them while she was safely hidden behind two hideously tall men.

They shouldn’t have matched; they should have fit together.  They were like two different paintings - Ronan with his faded leather jacket and jagged edges, Gansey with his suave suit and easy smile.  But, somehow, seeing them standing next to each other seemed  _right_  in a way that Blue couldn’t articulate.

Everything about them spoke of an intimacy that she couldn’t understand.  The way Gansey smiled proudly as he looked over Ronan’s work, the way Ronan’s ears turned an embarrassed shade of pink, the way Gansey rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip as he made a comment, the way Ronan was angled toward him as though hooked on his every word.

They belonged to each other.

“Jesus,” she said as she stepped forward.  “You two need to get a room.”

“Sargent,” Ronan greeted.  “Finally decided to ditch Gallbladder over there?”

“He keeps lecturing me on Monet,” she said, scowling.  “It’s like he doesn’t even remember grading an entire semester’s worth of essays and style applications.”

“Isn’t your final project for his class one of your gallery pieces?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.  I knew he was an idiot, but I didn’t think he was this far gone.”  Blue glanced at Gansey, who was carefully avoiding looking at her. “Gansey,” Ronan continued, finally prompting him to look over at her.  “This is actually who I wanted you to meet. I think you and the maggot will get along swimmingly.”

Ronan’s smile was a shark smelling blood in the water.  She wondered at the irony of both of them hoping the other would be the cause of Gansey’s discomfort.  She wondered what that said about all of them.

“We’ve met,” she said.

“Oh.”  Ronan deflated slightly.

“Not to worry, Lynch,” she said, slapping him on the shoulder.  “I think I hate him.”

Now it was Gansey’s turn to deflate, looking not unlike a scolded puppy.  “Now, that’s a bit unfair,” he said.

“You called me poor and offered to buy my art out of pity.”

Ronan snickered loudly, but everyone ignored him.

“That is not at all what I said-“

“And you hunted me down and came here just to convince me to join your dumb quest that you know full well I want no part of.”

“I did no such thing-“

“Wait, wait,” Ronan said, smile falling.  “You know about the quest?”

“Her moms are the psychics who gave me the prophecy,” Gansey said quickly.  “They said she was a part of it, too, but I didn’t-“

“Respect my wishes to be kept out of it?  Obviously.”

“I’m not here to convince you to join the quest!” Gansey said loud enough for other people to glance over curiously.  He cringed slightly before continuing at a far softer volume. “I came so I could see some of Ronan’s art, and because he said he wanted me to meet someone.  I had no idea it was you. I had no idea you two even knew each other. Hell, I didn’t even know you went to Aglionby.”

“Didn’t think I could afford it?” she asked.

Wisely, he didn’t answer.  “I can leave, if it would make you more comfortable.”

“No, no,” Ronan said, snagging Gansey’s elbow.  “There is no way in hell you’re leaving me here alone with all these fucking assholes.”

“Hey.”

“Not you, Sargent.”

Blue watched the indecision warring on Gansey’s face, and felt slightly gratified that he was actually willing to leave if she said to.  Probably because he was scared of her, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

“You can stay,” she said after a moment.  “But only because you’re Lynch’s safety blanket.”

Gansey relaxed slightly, nodding his thanks as Ronan sputtered beside them.  

Blue took the chance to examine Ronan’s art.  He was always so guarded about it, completing most of his assignments outside of class.  The first thing that struck her was the lack of color - she knew he preferred to work in black and white, but she hadn’t known it was an exclusive thing.  The second thing was that he had some of the most dynamic line work she’d ever seen. Jagged edges ripped through the canvas, threatening to cut anyone who dared to lean too close, combining to form fierce figures battling through the foreground.  There was no shading in sight, only blocks of pure color. The pieces should have been difficult to look at, but there was a softer edge to the patterns woven throughout that transformed his style from off-putting to enticing. His whole exhibit was a clear display of anger, but there was also a sense of hope hiding in the background, if you cared to look closely enough.

“They’re beautiful,” she said simply, knowing Ronan wouldn’t even except that much.

“They remind me of yours,” Gansey said.  Blue started - she’d forgotten he was standing beside her.

“How so?” she asked despite herself.

“There’s a hidden depth to both,” he said.  “Your colors are vibrant, the warm colors catching the eye and holding your attention, but if you look closer the blues hidden in the background hint at a melancholy that’s easy to miss.  Ronan does the same with his lines, hiding the vulnerability beneath the stark anger. Neither of your art is what it first appears to be.” Gansey shrugged elegantly, somehow managing to not wrinkle his suit.  “That’s what makes it good, in my opinion.”

“Huh.”  Blue hadn’t expected him to catch that, especially not with her own work.  He was the first tonight to comment on the thread of longing that she’d woven through her pieces.

He was the first to see that there was something more t beneath the surface.

Blue didn’t know whether to feel impressed or annoyed.

“Jesus, dude,” Ronan mumbled.  “It’s just some fucking charcoal.”

“We all know that’s not true,” Gansey said.  “I’ll admit I’m far from an expert in anything art related, but it’s always seemed to me that art is an extension of the artist, a way to see into their world view or mindset.  It seems especially obvious when viewing a whole body of work together like this. Otherwise, I’d be unlikely to notice anything besides that both of you have very…striking styles.”

“Please stop talking,” Ronan said, rubbing his forehead.  “You sound exactly like the asshole art snobs, and I’d hate to stop being friends with you.”

“How sweet,” Gansey said, sarcastically placing a hand over his heart.

“Fuck off.  I just don’t want to find a new roommate.”

“You’re roommates, then,” Blue said, glancing between them, the puzzle of their connection finally taking shape.

“Unfortunately,” Ronan said.

Gansey rolled his eyes before answering Blue.  “We’ve been friends since high school. We, ah, lived together for a while, and just sort of carried the arrangement over to the dorms.”

She wondered if it had been Ronan living with Gansey, or Gansey living with Ronan.  She wondered what had lead to such an arrangement. She wondered why she cared.

“How did you two meet?” Gansey continued.  “A shared art class?”

“Yeah,” Blue said.  “He was the only one who didn’t seem like a major tool.”  Central Virginia Community College had some sort of agreement with Aglionby where the CVCC kids could take discounted classes in a few programs.  Blue had saved up plenty of money from six years of house sitting and dog walking, and figured a studio art minor would look decent on a resume and be fun to boot, so she’d signed right up.  Two years later and here she was, so tired of being talked down to about her own art that she was willingly talking to Aglionby boys.

“Aw,” Ronan said, wiping away an imaginary tear.  “Thanks, maggot.”

“So,” she said after a beat of silence that she refused to define as awkward.  “Ronan. Prophecies, magic, all that jazz. You a believer?”

Ronan’s face pinched, and he forced out a shrug.  “Hang out with Gansey long enough, and you see some weird shit.”

Gansey’s face took on an odd frown as he watched Ronan.  “He’s a part of the prophecy, too, if you were wondering,” he said to Blue after a brief pause.  “He has to be. I wouldn’t think of doing it without him.”

“I wasn’t wondering,” she lied.  “I could care less.”

“You do care, then?” Gansey asked.

“What?”

“You said you ‘could care less,’ which implies that you care a good deal.  It’s a common mistake to make.”

Blue would have punched him if it wouldn’t have gotten her thrown out of the gallery.   _Just_  when she’d thought he was a smidge less insufferable than she’d originally assumed.

Ronan leaned against the wall, face relaxing into a grin as he watched them.  “Don’t think you’re off the hook, either, Lynch,” she snapped. “I know you invited him here because you knew we’d get along like oil and water.”  He shrugged, still grinning, not even bothering to deny it. The fact that she’d initially headed over here because she’d thought the same of the two of them wasn’t lost on her.

“I think we’re getting along just fine,” Gansey said.

“Don’t be thick, Dick.”

“Dick?” Blue said.  “Your name is  _Dick?_   Oh, Christ, that’s too perfect.”

“I prefer Gansey,” he said, cheeks reddening slightly.  

“Yeah, whatever you say, Dick,” Blue said.

“Fine then.  Two can play at that game,  _Jane.”_

“Who the hell is Jane?”

“You are.  Jane is a much more sensible name than Blue, don’t you think?”  His mouth quirked up at the corner, his hazel eyes gaining a certain sparkle under the soft gallery lighting.

She scowled, unswayed by his mirth or his beauty.  “You can’t just make up a name for someone!”

“Isn’t that how nicknames work?”

“That’s not how - that’s not what I - Ugh!”

“This is so much better than I thought it would be,” Ronan said.  “I should have brought popcorn.” Blue kicked at his shin, but he neatly sidestepped.

“I’m going back to my paintings,” Blue said, telling herself it wasn’t admitting defeat if you didn’t even know what you were trying to win.  “You two are insufferable.”

“Wait, Jane-“  She glared at him, and Gansey pulled up short.  “Ah. Blue. Before you go, I just wanted to know why you’re so against the quest.  I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I was just curious.”

Blue cocked her head to the side, watching him watch her.  She had to admit, he was a bit different than she’d originally thought.  Underneath the pompous clothing and plastic smile was someone who was able to not only befriend Ronan Lynch, but actively stay with him for years.  She only saw hints of him now, but she couldn’t deny that that boy was far more interesting to her than the one in the suit.

Her curiosity didn’t change anything about the quest, though.

“I’m tired of being a sidekick,” she said simply.  “I’m tired of being used for everyone’s magical mayhem and never getting to create my own.”

“You mean your powers?” he asked.  “Maura said something about you making the psychics stronger.”

Blue shrugged.  “I’m a battery full of psychic energy that I can’t use.  I make magic  _more_.”

All her life, Blue had been dragged into difficult readings and scrying sessions, had been taken on psychic field trips, had been a permanent observer in a world that she could never truly touch.  It wasn’t that she was against the idea of being useful. On the contrary, she quite enjoyed the rare occasions when she’d felt needed. But it was different when it was always her power that her family needed, rather than  _her._   She refused to do that here, to let this boy use her for his own gains.  She refused to debase herself like that, not for him, not for anyone.

“That’s fucking weird, Sargent,” Ronan said, biting on his leather bracelets.

“No, Ronan, it’s wondrous!” Gansey asked, face brightening.  “I’ve never heard of anything like it. How does it affect you?  Especially when you’re here, on the line. Are ghosts attracted to you?  What about the nastier stuff that can feed off of energy - poltergeists and demons and the like?  Are you protected at all, because I’ve read some horrid accounts of what can happen if you run into something when you’re not prepared, and if they’re all attracted to your energy-“

“Gansey, man,” Ronan said, putting a hand on Gansey’s shoulder.  “Chill.”

“Sorry,” he said, the fervor she’d seen on his face leaving so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it.  “I tend to get carried away with these kinds of things.”

Blue blinked.  She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been concern.  She’d faced all kinds of reactions when people learned about her powers - greed, fear, lust, awe - but only her family had ever shown concern.  And even that had only come after something nasty had been drawn to Blue’s energy during a scrying session with Neeve. Never,  _never,_  had someone’s first thought been of Blue’s well-being when the potential for their own gain was right in front of them.  

“I know how to protect myself,” she said, wondering if that was true.  When was the last time she’d practiced the shielding techniques her mom had showed her?  Where had she put that silver knife Calla had given her? What about that cute necklace Persephone had made for her, with the dried lavender pendant?

“Good,” he said, relaxing slightly.  “That’s good.”

“Well,” she said after a beat.  “I really do have to go now. I’m already going to get an earful for abandoning Gallegher like that.”  She gave them a slight wave before turning on her heel and walking into the thinning crowd. The event already appeared to be nearing an end, and Blue wondered where the time had gone.

“For what it’s worth,” Gansey called after her, turning a few heads in their direction.  “I don’t think you’re a sidekick.” Blue stopped and looked at him, trying to figure out if he actually meant it, or if he was just trying to manipulate her.  Ten minutes ago there would have been no question, but now she couldn’t be certain.

“Why?”

He scratched the back of his head.  “Please don’t hate me for saying this,” he said, which was never a great way to start.  “But you seem too large to be satisfied in that kind of role.”

“Are you calling me fat?” she asked, carefully schooling her face into neutrality.  Ronan coughed out a laugh, but she determinedly didn’t follow suit.

“What?  Oh, God, no.  I didn’t mean - I meant large in personality!  Like you’re, uh, eccentric! And, well, aggressive doesn’t have quite the right connotation, but maybe stubborn?  No, that isn’t right either-“

“Someone put him out of his misery,” Ronan said, dragging his eyes toward the ceiling as though in prayer.

Blue finally succumbed to the laugh bubbling out of her stomach, paying no mind to the heads that turned her way as she doubled over.  When she looked up, Gansey had a stunned expression on his face.

“I only meant that I wouldn’t ever think of you as a sidekick if you were to join the quest,” he said when she got her breath back.  “I don’t think of it as mine alone. Not now that it’s gotten…bigger.”

“What do you mean, bigger?”  She stepped closer to them, once again leaving the general floor space in favor of Ronan’s small bubble of crafted isolation.

“I’ve been searching for a Welsh king since I was ten years old,” Gansey said.  

“Gansey-”

“It’s fine, Ronan.  She should know.” His eyes darted around the room as though making sure no one else was near.  His voice lowered so far that Blue had to strain to hear it. “When I was ten years old, I died, and a sleeping Welsh king named Glendower brought me back to life.  I’ve been searching for him ever since to answer some questions, and to repay him, if I’m able.”

“You  _died?”_  she screeched, instantly slapping a hand over her mouth as half the room turned to glare at her.  Her mom’s words from the reading came back to her.  _This boy is touched by death._   She’d thought they were just being dramatic.

“Real subtle, Sargent,” Ronan growled, leveling a glare at the entire room until everyone collectively decided to turn their attention elsewhere.

For a brief second, she thought Gansey was joking, lying, just to get a reaction out of her.  But then she looked at his face, full of a fear that she was all too familiar with. A fear of disbelief, of rejection and ridicule.  She wondered how many other people he’d told, how many other people had laughed at his pain because they hadn’t thought it possible.

She wondered how the terrified boy standing before her was the same one who had sauntered into the room and insulted her only ninety minutes ago.

“ _A king’s favor repaid,”_  Blue recited quietly, hoping they wouldn’t notice she had the prophecy memorized.

“Exactly,” Gansey said, nodding, relaxing slightly as relief spread across his features.  “But it’s bigger than just me, now. You’ve heard the prophecy. I can’t do this alone.”

“You  _are_  trying to get me to join!” she said, poking him roughly in the chest.

“I’m partial to the idea,” he said, raising his hands in surrender and taking a step back.  “I need your help. You’re vital to this, Blue. I feel it. But I can’t force you to join. If you refuse me now, I will say no more of this.”

Blue looked at him for several long seconds, weighing her options and opinions.

It boiled down to this: Gansey hadn’t been what she’d expected.

Instead of pompously declaring that her art was bright, vibrant, simplistic, he’d taken the time to see through to the complex emotions that ran underneath the surface.  Instead of commenting on how useful her powers would be, he’d shown concern that they put her in danger. Instead of brushing off her concerns about the quest, he’d actually listened and assured her that she was needed, that she was  _vital_.  

No one had ever said that about her before.  About her powers, sure, but never about her.

And she had to admit: she was curious about this Welsh king of his.  She was curious about how someone like him could have died, how someone like him could be chosen by magic when she herself wasn’t.

Gansey defied expectations, just as she always strove to do.

She was more than a little pissed off about it.

Blue sighed dramatically.  “I’m going to regret this.”

“You’re in, then?” he asked, brightening instantly.  “You’ll help me?”

“Sargent, you sellout,” Ronan said, the scowl on his face indicating that it wasn’t entirely a joke.  He started gnawing on his bracelets again, and Blue wrinkled her nose, knowing he probably never washed them.

“Only if you promise never to treat my powers like they’re at your disposal,” she said to Gansey.  “They’re mine. I choose when and how to use them. Not you.”

“Of course,” he agreed easily.

“And I want to be a part of any magic shit that goes down.  This stuff with the darkness and the sleepers and all that. I don’t want to be on the sidelines.”

“I wouldn’t think of leaving you out.”

“Good.”

“I know you said you wanted, what was it, ‘magical mayhem,’ I believe?  I don’t know if I can promise that-“

“You heard the prophecy,” Blue said.  “We’re going to be swimming in mayhem.  Besides, Lynch is here. He practically sweats mayhem.”

Ronan scowled down at her, angry in a way Blue didn’t understand, but she pushed her concern aside.  She was pretty sure he reacted to most things with anger.

“Gross,” Gansey said, wrinkling his nose.  “I’d rather we try and stay away from mayhem, if at all possible.  This could all be quite dangerous, and I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it, now?” Blue asked.

“I just want you to be prepared.”

“I’ve been around magic all my life,” she said.  “I’m about as prepared as you can get.”

“Good,” Gansey said, nodding a few times to himself.  “Wonderful! That’s settled then. Ronan and I generally poke around the ley line on the full moon.  Would you like to join us? It’s next Saturday night.”

“I think I’m free,” she said, ignoring Ronan’s distinctly unhappy grumble.  She wondered how her mom would react to her wandering around with two boys she barely knew to unearth magic in the dead of night.  Probably not well. The thought sent a thrill through her.

“Wonderful!” he said again.  “Here’s my number so we can coordinate.”

Blue stared at the actual, honest to God  _business card_  that he pulled out of his wallet.

 _Aglionby boys,_  she thought crossly to herself as she reached forward to take it.

For better or worse, she was part of this, now.  She was involved.

And despite herself, she couldn’t wait for it to start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey!! My awesome artist Jem made a comic for the radio section at the beginning and y'all should check it out 'cause it's great!!  
> https://soniiq.tumblr.com/post/184447713718/hey-hello-this-is-for-the-ravencyclebigbang
> 
> Content Warnings - mentions of past child abuse, descriptions of emotional abuse and gaslighting

_My dear Aglionby, we’re going to jump right into things with a caller!  I’m told it’s a returning fan - our first one ever, in fact. He’s been calling sporadically since this show first started, and is in fact the whole reason I’m running an advice show in the first place.  That’s right, everyone, it’s our favorite mysterious caller - Tall, Drunk, and Sultry!_

_Hello, hello!  You’re live with Henry.  How can I help you this fine night?_

_You can go fuck yourself, that’s how._

_Not on air, I can’t.  Are you here to talk about your usual muse?_

_He’s just so - so pretty._

_How drunk are you, exactly?_

_He’s just.  He sits there in Latin with those damned freckles on the back of his neck, and all I want to do is trace constellations into his skin._

_Drunk enough to be poetic, I see._

_And he’s so smart.  He always gets top marks in Latin.  I think he’s gonna be vala-valedictorian._

_Both brains and beauty?  You’ve hit the jackpot, big guy._

_And his hands.  His hands. He twirls his pencil when he’s thinking, and I get lost, I get so damned lost in the way his fingers move.  God I just want - I just want to -_

_Kiss him?_

_No.  Yes. Fuck._

_My dude, I’ve been telling you this for years.  Just talk to him._

_I can’t I - Ah, fuck, I need to puke._

_Hello?  Mysterious Lover?  Well, folks, it looks like we’ve lost him, but we’ve gained some valuable information.  Tall, Drunk, and Sultry shares a Latin class with his true love, and he might be in the running for Valedictorian!  One day I’ll gather enough clues to track them down and uncover the secrets behind Aglionby’s biggest romantic drama!.  Do call again, Gruff Muffin, and keep us updated on your torrid tribulations of love. Now, we’re going to keep this night going by playing some Red Velvet, and then we’ll be taking more callers!_

 

* * *

  

Adam blinked down at his watch, counting down the minutes until his shift ended.  

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his job.  As far as work study programs went, being a library assistant was probably the best one.  A flexible schedule, a quiet atmosphere, a lack of manual labor. He’d been lucky.

But he’d only managed to snag about three hours of sleep last night, and the long day was wearing him thin.  Plus, he still had to bike across campus to his dorm, which meant he had to cross through the woods. His shift ended at ten, well past dark, and he’d be traveling alone.  Aglionby’s woods were notoriously dangerous after dark, and while Adam never held much faith in rumors, he was well aware that being alone in the woods at night wasn’t a smart idea in general, especially on Aglionby’s campus.  Weird things happened at night here. Weird things happened in Cabeswater.

While Adam had never run into anything he couldn’t handle before, he was never too keen on pressing his luck.

Luck was so rarely on his side, after all.

He’d promised himself he would only take daylight shifts this year, but night shifts paid better, and he desperately needed the money.  He had to pay his tuition somehow.

The safer alternative was asking someone for a ride, but Adam didn’t want to breach that level of familiarity with his coworkers.  A ride would lead to small talk, which would involve questions like _Where are you from?_ and _What’s wrong with your ear?_  Questions Adam would rather avoid.

It was easier to just keep his distance, even if that meant the occasional inconvenience.

Adam continued scanning in the pile of returns and loading them onto a cart for whoever was working tomorrow morning, using the time to decide what he should have for dinner.  Crackers and peanut butter, or that packet of ramen he’d been saving?

An alarm blared at the front door, and Adam’s head whipped up, a brief flash of thanks that he’d actually heard it rushing through him.  Aglionby guarded their property fiercely, and Adam didn’t want to find out what would have happened to him if something was stolen on his watch.

“Hey!” he called out, switching the alarm off and quickly sliding out from behind the counter to confront the figure power-walking out of the library.  “Excuse me, but you need to check the books out before you can leave.”

The man turned around, looking angry, and Adam hesitated briefly before continuing forward, furious with himself for the fear that lived in his bones.  

This was his first time in two years of working here that someone had actually tried to steal something from the library.  Adam had thought the security system was overkill - who would bother stealing what was free, after all? This idiot, apparently.

“I don’t have any books on me,” the man said, brown eyes flashing.  He had a few inches and several pounds on Adam, although none of it appeared to be muscle.  Thick brown hair cut a few years out of style, light blue dress shirt, a worn belt holding up his tired khakis - he was a student, maybe in graduate school based on his age, although that didn’t mean much in college.  “Your alarm system is broken.”

“Seeing as it just got calibrated last week, I doubt that.”  The man didn’t budge, and Adam sighed. He was starting to regret reacting to the alarm.  If he’d ignored it, at least his ear would have given him a valid excuse.

“Can I go?”

Adam shrugged.  “Campus police are already on their way here and we have you on camera, but sure, go ahead.”

Sweat broke out on his brow, and the man took a threatening step forward.  Adam held his ground. “Call them off,” he growled. “I don’t have any damned book on me!”

“Then you won’t mind explaining that to the cops.”

The man glared at him, checking his watch before glancing at the door behind him.  Adam couldn’t help but notice the awkward way he held his elbow against his side, almost as though he had a book hidden underneath his jacket that he didn’t want to fall. 

“I don’t have time for this,” the man said.  “Call off the damned cops or I’m going to complain to your manager.”

“Oh, how scary,” he replied dryly.  “I’m sure Martha will be horribly upset that I’m following protocol.”  He wasn’t, actually. He was supposed to just let security handle it, but, well, this guy didn’t have to know that Adam was only just remembering that.

“I’ll give you fifty bucks if you call off security and let me walk out of here.  From the looks of you, you could use it.”

For a brief second he was tempted.  This guy was an asshole of the highest order, but that didn’t make him wrong.  Fifty dollars could go a long way - he’d finally be able to buy some new shoes, and he might even have enough left over to get something solid for dinner tomorrow.

But was that worth letting this pompous ass off the hook?

Absolutely not.

“Sir,” he said, the title grating against his throat.  ”I recommend that you keep your money and just give me the book so we can both move on with our lives.”  The man looked like he was ready to throw a punch, and Adam was almost ready to let him. Instead, he sighed.  “Look. It’s late. We close in like three minutes. Just give me the book and I’ll call the security office to tell them it was a false alarm.  I’ll even let you check it out.”

It wasn’t that Adam was feeling particularly charitable; it was more that he was feeling the effects of being up since 5am.  He just wanted to go home.

The man’s posture didn’t relax, but he slowly nodded.  “Fine, but if this is some kind of trick, you’re dead. You understand?”

“What a terrifying prospect,” Adam said, rolling his eyes as he gestured the man back inside.  Adam returned to his station behind the counter, quickly calling the security office as he watched the man fidget nervously across from him.  Only when Adam ended the call did the man retrieve the book from underneath his jacket.

“Ready to check out?” Adam asked, a pep to his voice that wasn’t entirely false.  The man scowled in return, which only made Adam’s smile bigger.

He slammed the book onto the counter, and Adam thought seriously about making a comment about unnecessarily loud noises in the library before quickly discarding the idea.  As satisfying as it might have felt, a snarky comment wasn’t worth being stabbed over.

Adam took a moment to examine the book.  It was a thick tomb, leather-bound and old, one he hadn’t seen before.  The cover was written in symbols that Adam didn’t recognize, the words appearing to be burned into the leather.  He flipped through it briefly, seeing a few odd diagrams and what looked like instructions written in...archaic Latin?  He wondered what this thing was - some sort of medieval cookbook?

“I’m going to need your student ID,” he said, snapping the book closed.

“Is there any way I can get it without that?”

“No, sir.  I can look you up on the system if you don’t have your card with you.”

“Yeah, that’ll work.” the man said, a small, relieved smile flitting across his face.  “Noah Czerny.”

“I’m going to need you to spell that last name for me,” Adam said, quickly typing it in as the man recited the letters.  He moved to scan the book when something caught his eye. “Sir,” he said, hoping his exasperation didn’t bleed through. “This isn’t your ID.”

“Are you sure?”

Adam looked at the picture on the screen, showing a smiling blonde boy with puffy cheeks and a sunny disposition, to the lean, angular dark-haired man glowering across the counter at him.  “Yeah,” Adam said, voice flat. “I’m sure.”

“Oh, that’s right,” the man said, slapping his forehead.  “I was getting this _for_ Noah.  I hope that’s alright.”

“It’s not, actually,” Adam said, trying to rub away the quickly forming headache behind his temples.  Maybe he should just call security back. “We have a policy against that.”

“Right, I understand,” he said, sliding a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter.  “Perhaps you could just overlook that policy?”

Adam stared at the cash, forcefully reminding himself that this man was not worth losing his job.  “If this didn’t work five minutes ago, what makes you think it’ll work now?” And with thirty dollars less, at that.

The man’s face darkened in anger, but Adam wasn’t moved.  

“Last chance to give me your name or I’m keeping this thing,” he said, holding the book up and wiggling it in the air.

“Whelk,” he finally ground out.  “Barrington Whelk.”

Adam typed it into the system, making sure the picture matched this time.  He had half a mind to make up an excuse to withhold the book out of pure spite, but that would only delay him further.  Frankly, this guy wasn’t worth the effort.

“Wonderful,” he said, printing out the receipt.  “It’s due back in three weeks.”

As he watched the man stomp out of the library, Adam had to wonder why he’d been so reluctant to check the book out under his own name.  Then he realized he was five minute over his shift and none of this was his problem anymore.

He left with only a brief word to Koh who had the final leg of the closing shift, kicking out any stragglers and collecting stray books before he could finally lock up.  Then Adam was out in the early fall air, grabbing his bike and pedaling across campus. He wished the man hadn’t already been out of sight - he would have liked to flip him off.

Campus was quiet as he pedaled, caught in the perfect span between the general student body retiring to their dorms and the nighttime partiers growing rowdy.  Adam always felt at peace here, alone in the darkness.

He slowed slightly, taking the opportunity to listen to the scenes happening several floors up, through open windows that he couldn’t hope to locate.  There was a party in one, with loud, upbeat music that even he could catch clearly as he rode by. Laughter bubbled out of another, and a third held what might have been two people singing an off-key duet.

In these moments, Adam felt a longing that he couldn’t quite put a name to.  He wondered if these nameless, faceless students were happy, if they had managed to carve themselves a home here.  He wondered what he was missing, to be unable to accomplish even that much.

It wasn’t that Adam didn’t like people.  He just didn’t seem to be particularly fond of them.  

Every time he went to parties, he always ended up tucked in a corner sipping water from a red SOLO cup and watching the room grow steadily more inebriated.  Every group project ended in frustration, every attempt at joining a club ended in dissatisfaction, every single conversation with a peer ended with him feeling detached and drained.

Part of him had hoped that once he was out from underneath his parents’ thumbs, he would have been able to make proper friends.  He’d hoped the problem rested with them, rather than with himself. But after two years, Adam had to face the fact that he just wasn’t meant to connect with other people.  Something within him was irrevocably broken, and everyone knew it.

All through his life, he’d suffered alone.  He supposed college shouldn’t be any different.

If he kept telling himself he didn’t mind, maybe one day he’d believe it.

He continued biking through campus’ dark streets, enjoying the way the wind ruffled his hair as he let his mind circle back to a radio show he’d heard late last night.  It had been a silly call-in show about relationships, exactly the kind of mind-numbing distraction he’d needed after a nightmare. He had caught it several times before last night, and it had always been filled with amusing stories, upbeat music, and dubious life advice.  Adam had been fully expecting to let Henry Cheng’s soothing voice lull him back to sleep - or maybe Gansey’s if his anxiety kept him awake for long enough.

He hadn’t been expecting someone to call in, waxing poetic about a crush that was very obviously _Adam._

The caller hadn’t used Adam’s name, but the longer his slurred speech had gone on, the more convinced Adam had become.  

_…freckles on the back of his neck…gets top marks in Latin…twirls his pencil when he’s thinking…_

Adam would have normally been able to brush aside the coincidences, the similarities between himself and Tall, Dark, and Sultry’s crush.  After all, lots of people had freckles and twirled their pencils during class. Lots of people did well in Latin.

But lots of people didn’t share a Latin class with Ronan Lynch.

Lots of people didn’t have Ronan sitting directly behind them in lecture, muttering curses and sarcastic comments to practically everything the professor said.

Lots of people didn’t have the opportunity to recognize Tall, Dark, and Sultry’s voice.

_…so pretty…all I want to do is trace constellations into his skin…I get so damned lost in the way his fingers move…_

Ronan Lynch had a crush on him.  Ronan Lynch, who’s smile looked like it would rip you to shreds, who came into class with bloodied knuckles and a black eye, who cursed people out for simply looking at him wrong, sat in Latin class thinking about running his fingers over Adam’s skin.

Adam swerved abruptly, narrowly avoiding driving his bike directly into a lamppost.  

“Jesus,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.  “Pull yourself together, Parrish.”

He set off again, wondering why, exactly, this situation was hitting him so deeply, why he couldn’t seem to pull his mind away from it.  

The fact that it was Ronan Lynch didn’t bother him much.  Why wouldn’t the guy who looked like he regularly picked fights with brick walls be attracted to the guy with an abusive past?  He probably sensed some sort of innate vulnerability in Adam, some bullshit vibe that Adam was easy to manipulate and control because he’d been through it all before.  He wasn’t fond of the idea, but it fit too neatly into his worldview to truly interest him.

It wasn’t the fact that Ronan was a guy, either - Adam had known he was bi long before he’d learned of the word itself, long before he’d known liking people other than girls was _weird,_ long before he’d learned to hide it.  He had no problem with liking guys.

His problem laid in guys liking _him._

Or anyone, really.

No one here knew him.  No one had ever known him.  Kids in elementary school thought he was weird and quiet, a loner who refused birthday invitations and never brought treats to share with the class like everyone else.  Middle school was worse, everyone forming cliques and gossiping about the trailer park boy who only wore shabby, oversized Goodwill clothes. High school was when he perfected his practiced anonymity, learning how to be present enough to receive invitations to mall hangouts, but absent enough that no one cared when he was never able to show up.

No one knew that he got yelled at for asking to go to a sleepover, that his parents didn’t care enough to buy cheap treats to share for Valentines day or Halloween.  No one noticed that his parents stopped buying him clothes when he was 10, so he had to figure out how to make every scavenged penny count. No one cared when he disappeared, because they had never truly noticed him in the first place.

His parents were the worst of it, calling him lazy when he didn’t have the energy to finish cleaning the bathroom, ungrateful when he didn’t have the money to cover rent, disobedient when he managed to have enough spine to verbally defend himself.  They had clouded who he was, making his own intentions and thoughts murky and unreadable, and even now he was still trying to find himself.

Ronan Lynch didn’t like him.  He couldn’t. He didn’t even _know_ him.  

How could he, when Adam barely even knew himself?

Ronan just liked what he saw.  A skinny kid with dark skin and darker freckles, with unnervingly careful sky blue eyes and unkempt hair the color of the Virginian dirt under their feet.  A kid who was an easy target, who already kept himself separated from others, who had already grown used to the harsh pains of the world.

Ronan Lynch liked the Adam that the world saw, not the one who was actually here.

Adam sighed to himself, turning onto the path that led into Cabeswater.  The trees bloomed around him, blocking out the stars above and pressing close to the road.  After a few minutes, he pulled over to the side of the road, switching his bike’s safety lamp off.  He had never felt more alone than here, with darkness pressing in on every side. Without the wind in his face and the light marking his path, it was easy enough to feel like he had stepped out of the world, like he no longer had a body and was just floating in space without a care in the world.

Then a bright orange car roared by him, only avoiding side-swiping him by mere inches and a stroke of luck, and Adam realized that perhaps standing motionless on the side of the road at night wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had.  He wondered how he’d missed hearing such a beast of a car, but quickly blamed it on his ear rather than himself.

Heart rocketing in his chest, he watched as the car’s brake lights bathed the trees in a red glow, the car slamming to a stop a few dozen feet down the road.

“Are you okay?” a boy called, jumping out of the driver’s seat.  “I didn’t hit you, did I?” The familiar voice caught him off guard, but Adam brushed the feeling aside, figuring they had shared a class at some point.

Adam turned his bike lamp back on before answering.  “I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” the boy said, walking over.  Adam resisted the urge to get on his bike and ride away.  As much as he just wanted to get to his room, finish his calculus homework, and go to sleep, he also didn’t want to be unnecessarily rude.  “I didn’t see you.”

“I’m fine,” Adam repeated.  “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” the boy asked, stepping into the light.  He was on the shorter side, with wind-tousled brown hair and a facial structure that made Adam’s heart ache.  His smile was bright and easy, his polo shirt was a calming shade of robin’s egg blue, and his boat shoes had cute little white anchors on them.  They definitely hadn’t shared a class before. Adam would have remembered.

“I - yeah,” he said, frustrated that he was always flustered around this type of guy.  The ones who would soon be lawyers or CEOs or surgeons. The ones who would one day hold power in the world and clearly knew it.  The ones who were the exact opposite of Adam. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Why were you standing there in the dark, if you don’t mind me asking?”

_I do mind._

Adam bit back the automatic response, reminding himself that this guy was just trying to be polite, even if he was prying.  All Adam had to do was reassure him that he was fine, and then they could both get on with their night.

“I was thinking,” he said, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Oh,” the boy said.  “Okay.” There was an awkward beat of silence, and Adam had hope that the end of this interaction was nearing.  Then the boy jerked his thumb back toward his car. “Would you like to think in there? It’s undeniably safer, and not just from careless motorists.”

Adam frowned, something clicking in his mind.  “You’re talking about The Beast.”

The boy grinned, teeth practically glowing in the beam of light from Adam’s bike.  “Do you believe, too?”

“I don’t really care about all that.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s fine,” the boy said, practically wilting in front of him.  “But I can still give you a ride home if you’d like.”

“I don’t even know your name,” Adam said.

“Oh!  I’m Gansey.”  He held out his hand, and Adam reluctantly shook it, finally placing his voice.

“From the radio.”

“You’re a listener!  Wonderful!” He shook Adam’s hand more vigorously, seeming to gain energy from this small admission.

“Only sometimes,” Adam cautioned.  “I’ve heard, like, maybe four shows.”

“That’s four more than most people.  What did you think of them?”

Adam shrugged.  “They were fine,” he said, but looking into Gansey’s eager expression, he felt like he had to give more than he wanted to.  “Interesting, really. And the music you played helped me fall back asleep.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said.  “It’s getting late, are you sure you don’t want a ride?  It’s no trouble.”

Adam opened his mouth to turn him down again, when the wind swirled and shrieked above them, the trees creaking and dancing like puppets in the darkness.  It died a second later, just as suddenly as it had started. In the distance, a howl echoed through the woods, distant and wavering. Adam shut his mouth.

He’d heard the howl through his deaf ear.

“That’s ominous,” Gansey said, looking toward the sky.  “And my car appears to have died. Perfect. I wonder if the ley line is acting up.”  He pointed, and Adam saw that the headlights ahead had gone dark. “It does that sometimes, usually when it’s most inconvenient.”

Another howl rang through the forest, distinctly closer than the last.

Weird things happened at night.  Weird things happened in the woods.

Adam knew in his gut that these weren’t coyotes, but something worse.  Something not entirely normal.

He weighed his options.  The safest route would be to simply take off on his bike, leaving Gansey behind to call a tow truck.  But then Gansey would be left alone to fend off whatever was howling, and Adam couldn’t quite stomach leaving him here.  They could try riding doubles on his bike, but Adam wasn’t confident in his ability to balance them both while navigating in the dark.  

Or, the final option.  He could stay.

He sighed, already regretting his decision.

“I can take a look at your car, in exchange for a ride.” he said, pushing his bike forward.  “I’m a fair mechanic.” If he managed to fix it, it would serve the dual purpose of getting them both out of Cabeswater, and paying Gansey back for the ride.

“That’s fantastic!  Could you show me what you do?  I’ve always wanted to learn this sort of thing, but I never knew where to start.”  Adam side-eyed him, but Gansey seemed genuine, and Adam didn’t know how to feel about it.  Everyone knew being a mechanic was a lowly trade job, dirty and grungy and far beneath the likes of boys like Gansey.

“Sure,” he said slowly, running his fingers along the hood before popping it open.  The 1973 Camaro was a loud beast, not at all the sleek, modern car Adam would have pictured a boy like Gansey driving - or any Aglionby boy, really.  It appeared to be well-loved, but poorly maintained, and Adam wondered what had driven Gansey to buy this thing. “Try starting it, first. Sometimes you can get a few more miles out of them without touching anything else.  It’s usually not the best idea, but under the circumstances-“ Another howl ripped through the night, sounding like it was only half a mile away. Whatever it was was very obviously headed directly toward them.

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in The Beast,” Gansey said, climbing into the driver’s seat.  The engine sputtered a few times as he cranked the key, but it never properly turned over.

“I never said that,” Adam said, unclipping his bike’s light and holding it up to see better.  “I said I didn’t care about that kind of stuff, not that I didn’t believe in it.”

“You seem to care now.”  Gansey brought out a sleek smartphone, using the flashlight feature to give Adam more light to work.  He tried not to be jealous.

“I care that there’s something obviously being drawn to us while we’re stranded in the middle of the woods,” he said, quickly moving through his mental checklist as his hands flew through the familiar motions.  Oil? Check. Battery? Check. Spark plugs? Ah. “I don’t care if it’s The Beast or a pack of wolves. I just want to get out of here.”

“Sensible,” Gansey said.

“I’m guessing you don’t have an extra set of these,” Adam asked, holding up the faulty spark plugs.  Gansey shook his head. “Do you have any tape, then? Preferably electrical tape, but duct tape will do.”

“I’ll check the trunk,” he said, jogging to the back of the car as another howl sounded, now only a short distance away.  Whatever was coming for them, they were _fast._ Adam shined his light into the trees, eyes straining for the telltale glint of reflective light that meant they had arrived.  “None here,” Gansey called. “Let me try the back seat.”

“If it matters,” Adam said, “I don’t think this is The Beast.  I’ve seen it before, and it definitely didn’t howl.”

 _“What?”_ Gansey practically screeched, waist-deep inside his car.  “You’ve actually seen it? What did it look like to you?”

“I’ll tell you when you find some tape.”

Gansey yelled something from inside the car, but it was lost to Adam.

“I’m sorry?” he asked as Gansey popped back out and came up to Adam’s left side.  He turned toward him, hoping the motion seemed more natural than it felt.

“I said I got it,” Gansey said, holding a roll of tape aloft before handing it to Adam.  Adam nodded, hoping Gansey couldn’t see his cheeks heating up as he wrapped a thin strip around the exposed wiring before shoving it back into place.  

“Try that.”

“If it matters,” Gansey said, sliding back into the driver’s seat, “there have been several reports of The Beast taking the form of a wolf.”  Adam couldn’t tell if he was speaking louder than he normally would have. He hoped not.

The engine turned over, the growl of the car mixing with the growl from the bushes.  Adam shined his light into the woods as Gansey swung back out of the car, seeing several pairs of red eyes shining back in the darkness.

“Pretty sure this isn’t The Beast,” Adam said, keeping his light trained on the pack of hopefully-probably-coyotes as he slid along the side of the car. Gansey opened the backseat door, and Adam started blindly shoving his bike inside, not daring to take his eyes off the pack of animals.  He could hear his carefully crafted neutral accent slipping away as his heart rose into his throat, revealing the Henriettan twang that slumbered beneath. “Unless there are, uhhhhh, six of them now.”

“Pretty sure I agree with you,” Gansey said, turning to help him.  “Do coyotes normally have red eyes?”

Adam wondered Gansey he sounded so calm, how he was able to ponder minute details when there was a pack of unnatural creatures mere feet away.  Adam’s own heartbeat was thudding so hard in his throat that he was having difficulty swallowing, let alone speaking. Maybe Gansey simply hadn’t noticed.  Adam found himself a bit jealous. “I don’t want to stick around to find out,” he said, practically a wheeze.  The pressure lessened somewhat when his bike finally sagged into place.

“A fair point,” Gansey said, slamming the back door closed.  “Climb through the driver’s side. I’m right behind you.”

Adam dove inside without further comment, thankful when the car peeled away a second later.  He craned his neck, watching as several shadowy forms piled out onto the road, illuminated only by the dim tail lights of Gansey’s car and their own red, glowing eyes.  As they faded from sight, Adam swore he saw the shapes collapse upon themselves like smoke, disappearing into the darkness. He shivered, but decided not to tell Gansey.  Whatever his fascination with The Beast was, it seemed enthusiastic to an almost childish degree. Adam didn’t want to ruin Gansey’s wonder with the possibility of murderous shadow creatures.

He was also planning on dropping his night shifts for a while.

They drove in silence for several moments, although Adam couldn’t truly call it silent with the Camaro roaring and shaking around them.  He wondered if the last time this thing had been brought in for a checkup was when it had rolled off the lot. Regardless, Adam was glad for the chance to get his breathing back in order.  He carefully studied the darkness beyond the window, but it didn’t yield any more nasty surprises.

Gansey tapped his shoulder, looking concerned, and Adam’s stomach dropped as he realized that he’d missed whatever Gansey had been saying.  He twisted in his seat, trying to get a better angle. “Thank you,” Gansey repeated.

“For what?”

“For staying.  I know you could have just ridden away, but you stayed.  Thank you.”

Adam shrugged uncomfortably.  “I probably would have been eaten or something.  If they were willing to go after two people, I wouldn’t have stood a chance on my own.”

“The same goes for me, then,” Gansey said easily.  “Dog meat, the both of us.”

“A car is better protection than a bike,” he said quietly.

“That’s making a lot of assumptions,” Gansey said.  “I didn’t want to say anything back there, but those likely weren’t normal coyotes.  They got to us much too quickly, and, well, I caught a glimpse of one in your light and it _smoked._  It didn’t appear fully corporeal, and the light seemed to hurt it.  I doubt my car would have been much of a deterrent.”

He’d noticed, then.  He’d noticed and he’d still managed to stay calm.  Although, now that Adam was looking closer, he could see Gansey’s hands shaking against the steering wheel, could see his chest shuddering a bit as it rose and fell.  

Adam knew why _he_ was able to hide his fear so well, why he was able to think through it even when it was choking him.  But why was someone like Gansey able to do the same?

“Have you heard of anything like them before?” he asked.

“No,” Gansey said quietly.  “I have a feeling they were after me, though.  It’s starting, and I think they were trying to stop it.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Adam didn’t ask him to.  They lapsed back into silence, and Adam only broke it once the lights of the north side of campus came into view.

“It was a deer,” he said quietly.  “The Beast. It was a giant, glowing deer.”  He paused, remembering how it had stepped out of the trees in front of him, easily twenty feet tall, every movement containing the grace of the cosmos.  The fur glowed softly in the moonlight, a subtle blue tint to it, with bright white stars scattered across its hide. Moss and vines draped across its blanched antlers, delicate flowers sprinkled across to add a spot of color.  And the eyes. Stark white, glowing, looking at Adam like it saw the entirety of who he was, who he would grow to be. He’d felt known in that instant, standing in the darkness with an unfathomable creature. He’d felt terrified, not because of what it was, but because of what it meant.  “It was beautiful,” he finished lamely.

“When did you see it?”

“Once my freshman year, twice last year.  Always when I was going through the woods alone at night.  Always on a full moon.”

“Three times,” Gansey whispered.  Adam twisted slightly in his seat so he could hear better, but he was still mostly relying on lip reading and context clues.  “That’s amazing. I’ve spent so many nights out there just trying to catch a glimpse of it, but it’s never shown itself to me.”  He turned, then, watching Adam with an unfathomable expression in his eyes. “You’re something special, Adam.”

“Not really,” he said, really wishing Gansey would watch the road.

Gansey shook his head in disagreement, but thankfully didn’t make any further argument.  He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel before rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip in a way that made Adam’s stomach twist into knots.

“Some friends and I are going to go out on the full moon,” he said after a moment.  “Just to poke around campus a bit and see what turns up. I’d like to have you along, if you’d be willing.”

“Is this because The Beast seems to be fond of scaring the shit out of me?”

Gansey snorted, a noise that Adam wouldn’t have thought him capable of before that moment.  It was strangely attractive. “Only partially,” he said.

“And the other part?”

“There’s something I have to do,” he said carefully.  “Something dangerous. Something I think I need your help with.”

 _“‘It’s starting,’”_ Adam quoted.  Gansey nodded. “Why me?”

“I feel a connection to you,” Gansey said plainly.  “Like we’re meant for something more. I’d be remiss to ignore that.”

Adam nodded, although he wasn’t sure he felt what Gansey was describing.  It was true that this was the longest conversation he’d had in at last five years, outside of mandatory group project work.  It was true that, despite the danger of tonight, he felt safe in this car. It was true that he wasn’t nearly as eager for it all to end as he would have thought.  

It was also true that while Adam could have left Gansey alone in the woods, Gansey could have easily abandoned Adam once he’d gotten the car running.  It would have been a smart move, throwing Adam to the definitely-not-coyotes in order to make his own escape more likely. Especially when Gansey thought they were after him.  But he hadn’t done that. He’d helped Adam save his bike and then Adam himself. Without question, without hesitation.

Adam didn’t know if that all translated to the same sort of connection that Gansey was talking about, but he did know that this was the first time in his life that someone had ever put Adam’s safety above their own.

“I’ll come,” he said.  “What night is that?”

“Friday.  I figure we’ll meet around ten and stay out until two, if that’s agreeable for everyone.  I’ll drive you home, of course.”

“I don’t need a ride-“

“We’ll probably all be in the Pig anyway,” Gansey said, patting the dashboard lovingly.  Adam wondered what kind of person named their Camaro _Pig._  “It’s no trouble.  But speaking of home, which dorm are you in?  I don’t actually know where I’m going.”

“Oh.  You can drop me off here, it’s fine.”

“Adam.  There are shadow monsters afoot.  They almost ate us. I’m not going to drop you off any further than the front door.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“You’re lucky I’m not insisting on walking you up to your room.”

Adam sighed heavily, massaging his forehead.  Was it worth arguing about? Probably not. “I’m in St. Agnes.”

“Sounds good,” Gansey said.  After a moment, he spoke in a cautious tone.  “I don’t mean to pry,” he said slowly, “but do you have trouble hearing out of your left ear?”

Adam ran his fingers along the edge of his ear, trying to distract himself from the way his stomach rolled.  Gansey had noticed his missing pieces. Gansey knew he was broken.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Does my speaking louder help?  Or would you prefer to sit in the back, maybe?”

“No,” Adam said, struggling not to sink down in his seat.  “I’m fine. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Gansey studied him for a moment before nodding to himself.  A second later he tossed his phone into Adam’s lap before manhandling the Camaro into a left turn.  “Is it alright if we trade numbers? It’ll make coordinating on Friday far easier.”

“Oh,” Adam said, an icy chill falling over him, dousing the warmth of happiness he’d been desperately clinging to.  “I don’t have a phone.”

“Oh, alright,” Gansey said easily.  Adam wished he could capture that ease and keep it for himself.  “I’ll just pick you up at eleven in front of your dorm, then. Does that work?”

“I guess.”

Adam slouched down in his seat, letting the rest of the ride to St. Agnes pass in silence.  He didn’t want to think about how Gansey’s clothes were name-brand while Adam was stuck with Goodwill hand-me-downs.  He didn’t want to think about how Gansey threw his $600 smartphone around like it meant nothing, while Adam didn’t even feel like he could properly afford a tracfone.  He didn’t want to think about how Gansey owned a 1973 Camaro named Pig that he didn’t even know how to maintenance properly, while Adam had saved up for two years just to buy a second-hand bike.

He didn’t want to ruin this by getting stuck on the fact that Gansey was very obviously rich, very obviously Aglionby, and Adam very obviously wasn’t.

He didn’t want to start thinking of this night and whatever may follow as something born of pity.

But he did.

They pulled in front of the old church, and Gansey threw his flashers on before settling the car into park.  “One last question before you go,” he said.

Adam paused, door already half open, one foot on the pavement, wondering if he should just pretend like he hadn’t heard.  Wondering if he should just go up to his room and blow off their plans for Friday night, if he should just go back to the life he’d carved out for himself in the past few years.

Lonely.  Difficult.   _Safe._

Was he ready to risk losing all of that for the promise of something more?

Adam sighed to himself, already regretting his decision as he twisted so he could hear Gansey better, raising his eyebrows in silent permission to continue.  Gansey had helped him tonight, and while Adam didn’t owe him anything for that, he felt it at least earned Gansey a chance.

It earned _them_ a chance.

So he stopped.  And he listened.

“What do you know about Welsh kings?”

 

* * *

 

“Barry, come look at this!” Noah called, using a stick to poke at the skull lying in a dusty patch of sunshine.  It was bleached white, so it had probably been here for a while.

“Noah, that’s disgusting,” Barry said, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he knelt down beside him.

“I think it’s a cat.  We dissected one in anatomy last week.”  He poked it again, absentmindedly running through all the parts of the skull he had to know for his upcoming lab test.  He always did better with visual aids, and part of him wanted to take this skull to study. It’d make a cool paperweight, too.  “What do you think it’s doing here?”

Barry shrugged, standing back up.  “It was probably a stray or something.”

“But then where’s the rest of the skeleton?  Do you think it walked off? Maybe there’s a headless zombie cat hidden away in someone’s dorm!”  He could imagine a freshman necromancer running in circles trying to keep their dead bone cat a secret from their roommate.  Or, better yet, a freshman necromancer resurrecting a dead bone cat as the perfect pet for their roommate because they were depressed and allergic to cat dander!  

“Scavengers probably carried it away, Noah.  Christ, what does it matter?”

Noah frowned, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket as he stood up.  “I was just messing around,” he said, kicking at the grass with the toe of his shoe.  “Sorry.”

“Can we focus a bit?  I think we’re getting close to something.”

He shrugged to himself, following Barry as he walked into a small clearing, swinging his EMF reader in small arcs as he explored.  The clearing was almost perfectly circular, surrounded by thick forest on all sides. The only thing of note in it, as far as Noah could tell, was the large tree stump in the center and the sheer abundance of litter.

The woods in the center of Aglionby was a frequent location for exploration, but they had never been to this part before.  Not in the context of ley lines, anyway. If he squinted right, Noah was pretty sure he could remember dancing on the tree stump in a drunken haze back in freshman year.  He wasn’t going to tell Barry that, though.

 _This is a sacred place,_ something whispered in his ear.   _Take care._

 _I totally did not get drunk and take a piss on the tree trunk,_ he thought back.

“I think you might be right,” he said aloud as he reached down and snagged an empty beer can.  He may not be able to clean up much, but every little bit counted, right? He totally wasn’t trying to make up for dancing and peeing on something sacred, no siree.  “You think this spot is on the line?”

“I think this spot might be on _both_ lines,” Barry said, a hint of excitement in his voice.  Noah smiled. It had been a while since he’d heard that tone.

When they’d first met, Barry had been full of energy and awe, teaching Noah all about the ley lines that ran through campus despite the fact that Noah had come to the tutoring center for help in Latin, not magic.  But Barry’s enthusiasm and drive to discover Aglionby’s secrets had pulled Noah in, and he’d soon found himself falling head over heels for the older boy. They’d started dating only nine months ago, frequently going on romantic explorations of disused basements and dark forests, searching for anything that pointed toward what Barry was searching for.

Or, more specifically, _who._

Glendower.

Noah had learned that he was an ancient Welsh king who had fled Europe after a failed revolution against the English.  He was rumored to have travelled here, to the United States, and in smaller, more secretive circles, was rumored to be sleeping on the ley line, waiting for someone to wake him.

Whoever managed it would be granted a wish.

Barry suspected that Glendower was hidden here, in little old Henrietta, Virginia.  Apparently, Henrietta rested over a Convergence point of two different lines, and Barry had become convinced that if he could find the exact spot where those two lines met, that he would find Glendower.

Barry wanted that wish more than anything else.

Noah wanted to be with him when he got it.

He didn’t care about a maybe-dead king or magical wishes or magic.  He just liked seeing Barry’s eyes sparkle in the sunlight when he found something promising, when he got caught up in the magic and mystery and became lost to everything else.

Barry was so pretty when he was happy.

Those moments had been coming less and less often, recently.  Noah didn’t know what had changed - Barry used to get excited over the smallest things; going on for hours over a tiny spike in the line’s energy levels, camping in the library until closing time so he could suss out an obscure historical detail, staking out the campus chapel on St. Mark’s eve to try and see the ghosts walk the corpse road.  But now, he only seemed angry when the magic didn’t come to him, like he was tired of searching with nothing concrete to show for it. Like he was owed Glendower simply because he’d put in the effort of looking.

Noah thought it was a childish way to view magic, but he knew better than to say so aloud.

Secretly, in the dead of night when even the ghosts couldn’t hear his thoughts, he wondered what had changed, and how to change it back.  Why couldn’t Barry just be happy with the search? Why wasn’t going on adventures with Noah enough anymore?

Why wasn’t _Noah_ enough?

So when Barry’s eyes lit up and he started circling the clearing, carefully watching the EMF reader’s little screen, Noah found that he was relieved.  Barry’s step grew bouncier, his shoulders looser, his mouth turned up slightly at the edges.

He was onto something.

He was happy.

Noah grinned.

 _Be wary,_ something whispered in his ear.  

Noah paused, then brushed the words aside.  Ghosts were always overly cautious, probably a byproduct of having died.  They always gave warnings when he was exploring with Barry, but nothing bad had happened yet, as long as you discounted that one time a spider as big as his hand had dropped onto his shoulder.

“I think this is it,” Barry said, circling the tree stump in the center of the clearing.  The tree must have been ancient before it had been cut, because the trunk itself was easily wide enough for Noah to lie down on.  It stood at about four feet tall, and Noah wondered why they hadn’t chopped it down closer to the ground. The roots spread across the ground in all directions, long dead but still holding tight.  

“Cool,” Noah said, knocking his knuckles against the wood.  There were odd stains running across its surface, darker brown splotches on the top that didn’t match with the grain, some of which dripped down the side.  From the rain, probably, or maybe old leaves. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Barry said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a book.

Noah’s ears hissed.  Whether the ghosts were angry or afraid, he couldn’t tell.

“What’s that?” he asked.  He’d never heard the ghosts hiss before.

The book was old, that was easy enough to tell from the crumbling brown pages and dusty smell when Barry cracked it open.  It was bound in leather that didn’t look quite right, with golden symbols etched into the cover in a language Noah couldn’t hope to read.  Latin, maybe, but the letters looked funny. Squiggly-er. Maybe an ancient dialect?

Barry placed it on the tree stump, flipping through it quickly and muttering to himself.

“Where did you get it?” Noah tried again, craning his head to see better.  Barry flipped past several pages covered in diagrams of pentagrams and more squiggly symbols, and Noah felt his curiosity rise.  “Is this, like, a Yu-Gi-Oh thing or something?”

“Can you shut up for a minute?” Barry snapped.  “I’m busy.”

Noah pulled back, shrinking into his hoodie.

 _Evil is here,_ the ghosts whispered.   _Be wary.  The full moon approaches._

Noah walked off toward the tree line, leaving Barry to his research.  When he was out of earshot, he spoke softly into the wind.

“Why’s the book got you all so hot and bothered?” he asked, careful to keep his voice low.

It wasn’t that Barry didn’t believe in ghosts.  That would have been a difficult feat, considering he believed there was a 600 year old sleeping beauty of a Welsh king just waiting to grant a magical wish to whoever woke him up.  No, Barry had no trouble believing in ghosts.

He just didn’t believe Noah could talk to them.

Noah tried to keep in mind that Barry was probably just hurt that the ghosts wouldn’t talk to him, even when the ley line was strong and they danced in Noah’s peripherals.  But Barry’s comments had worn him down over the months, and his steady disbelief had started to make Noah question himself.

Maybe they weren’t ghosts, after all.  Maybe Barry was right, and he was just making it all up for attention.

Noah was the only one who heard them, after all.  Maybe he was mentally ill, like Barry hinted at. Sometimes it felt like Barry knew Noah better than he knew himself.

If he couldn’t trust Barry, then who _could_ he trust?

But it was well documented that Henrietta was haunted, and Aglionby most of all.  Ghost hunters swarmed campus when classes weren’t in session, giving the university a pretty penny for housing and filming rights.  Aglionby was a well-known name in supernatural circles.

Why _shouldn’t_ he be the only one to hear the ghosts, if he was the only one who bothered to listen?

 _It contains great evil,_ the voice said, carried on the wind.   _Be wary, be wary, it comes for you._

“Ominous,” Noah said lightly.  It was Barry’s book, so Noah didn’t see much need for wariness.  It wasn’t like Barry would ever hurt him. “Do you guys know where he got it?”  It didn’t seem like the kind of book you could just pop over to Barnes and Noble and buy.

_Only those with a tainted heart may find that book.  It is not for you._

“Thanks, I think.”

Noah wandered back over to Barry, the ghost’s words chasing him, almost too light for even him to hear.   _Be wary on the night of the full moon._

“Hey, Barry!” he called.  “Can I see that book? It seems neat.”  Anything that had the ghosts in such a titsy was worth checking out, in Noah’s opinion.  Maybe it was a monster manual, like in _Harry Potter._  Or maybe it was a wizard’s spellbook like in _Dungeons and Dragons._  Noah could easily imagine Barry running around and defeating evil creatures by casting awe-inspiring, powerful spells.  He’d look pretty silly in a pointy hat, though.

“No, Noah.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s mine, and it’s old, and it’s expensive.  I don’t want you to ruin it.” Barry ran his finger carefully down a line of text, pursing his lips.  The expression made Noah’s stomach lurch, urging him to kiss him, but Noah pushed it aside. Barry didn’t like kissing much, and he definitely wouldn’t like it now, when it would be a distraction.

“I wouldn’t ruin it,” he protested.  Barry didn’t respond, and Noah wondered if he’d even heard.  “What are you looking for?”

“Glendower.  I thought you would have figured that out by now,” he said, voice mocking.

“I meant in the book,” Noah muttered, picking at the hem of his hoodie.  He didn’t want to look at Barry just then, knowing his eyes would be narrowed in disdain.  He was only three years older than Noah, a grad student studying Latin while Noah was stuck in undergrad, but moments like this made the age gap in their relationship feel decades wide.  “I just want to know what you’re thinking of doing. I miss talking to you.”

“Glendower isn’t here,” Barry said bitterly, hand clenching the cover of the book so tightly Noah was afraid it would snap.  “Obviously. He should be here, if this is the Convergence. So either I’m wrong, or something else is.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong,” Noah said quietly.  Barry had spent at least a year exploring the town with his EMF reader, carefully mapping out the highest energy readings on a map in his efficiency apartment.  He had figured out that there were two lines, and that they likely met somewhere on campus. If anyone was able to find where Glendower was sleeping, if anyone deserved that wish, it was Barry.  Besides, the ghosts had said this was a sacred place. What was more sacred to beings that lived off of the ley line’s energy than the place where two lines converged?

“I’m not wrong,” Barry said.  “I can’t be wrong.”

“Then you’re looking for something to fix it,” Noah said, nodding to himself.

“A ritual,” Barry said.  “Something to make the line stronger.”  A gust of wind blew, lifting a few stray leaves into the air, a ballroom dance of death and decay.   _Be wary._ Noah shivered, wondering what kind of book held rituals that powerful.  Wondering again where Barry had found it.

“Is the line weak?” he asked instead.

“Weaker than it should be.  Weaker than I need it to be.”

“I wonder why,” he said softly, running his hand along the stained wood.  “Has it always been like this? Or did something change?”

“Who knows, Noah?  Who cares?”

Noah shrugged roughly, wishing Barry wasn’t so harsh when he was stressed.  Just because he hadn’t found his king today didn’t mean he had to be such a sour puss.

Before, Barry would have taken this setback as a challenge, as an opportunity for more research and exploration.  He would have grinned in anticipation, eager for the extra effort to pay off in some small clue, some small hope.

He wondered if that old Barry was sleeping, and how Noah could wake him.

“Let’s just go,” Barry said, slamming the book shut and shoving it into his bag.  “I need more time to translate this properly. Time _without_ distractions,” he said, shooting Noah a withering glare.

“Sorry,” he said, scrambling to follow Barry as he stomped out of the clearing.  “I can be quiet.”

“When have you ever been able to be quiet?” Barry growled.  “You’re like a mosquito, always there, buzzing in my ear.”

Noah huddled deeper into his hoodie, wishing for an instant that he was a ghost, so maybe he could give Barry some peace.  “I just like spending time with you.”

Barry stopped suddenly, so quickly that Noah almost crashed into his back.  

“I’m sorry, Noah,” he said, shoulders slumping as he turned around.  “I’m upset about the line. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“It’s okay,” Noah said softly.  “We’ll fix it. I know you’ll find a way.”

“Yes,” he said, a smile slowly spreading across his face.  He leaned down, kissing Noah lightly on the lips. “Yes, I think I will.”

“You have an idea?” Noah asked, gently running his fingers over his lips.  A kiss from Barry was rare, and he planned to treasure it.

“Maybe.  Something I read in the Grimoire - in the book.  But I’ll need to research more. Wait until the time is right to try it.  The full moon might do.”

“Okay,” Noah said, a sunny smile spreading over his face.  Part of him wanted to ask about the book - the _Grimoire_ \- again, but the light in Barry’s eyes stopped him.  He loved when Barry was excited, when a new idea had gripped him.  He was filled with so much potential, so much hope, that it almost made Noah dizzy.  His lips tingled. He didn’t want to ruin it. “Let me know how I can help.”

“Oh, I think I have just the right use for you,” Barry said, giving him another light kiss before turning and continuing along the trail.  Noah followed along, feeling so light that he was almost skipping through the air.

Not even the wind whispering warnings in his ear could bring him down.

_Be wary, be wary.  Take care under the light of the full moon._

Everything would be fine, he knew.  It always was with Barry leading the way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings - mentions of drug use and Kavinsky, descriptions of alcohol use, past kidnapping, and past character death

_Hello, Aglionby.  What a lovely morning for those of you awake to enjoy it.  Today we’re going to talk about something that everyone on campus is aware of, but never wants to acknowledge: The Beast in the Woods._

_The woods, officially known as Cabeswater, divide the north and south sides of campus, and is the home to a large, occasionally ferocious animal.  All efforts to track down and catch this animal have failed miserably, and while photo evidence exists, the image of it is vastly different every time it’s captured.  A wolf is a bear is a hippo is a badger is a mountain lion. All images, however, are distinctly ghostly in nature, as though the animal is comprised entirely of fog._

_Some folks new to the area - freshmen, I’m looking at you - might write this off as a rumor of a simple cryptid, but I can assure you that The Beast is very real, and very dangerous if you’re not careful.  I haven’t personally encountered it, but there’s a plethora of evidence ascertaining both its existence and its violent nature to anyone who angers it._

_Personally, I don’t believe that The Beast is especially dangerous when left alone.  From the reports I’ve read - and I’ve read them all - everyone The Beast attacked was either purposefully antagonizing it or attempting to damage Cabeswater in some way.  I believe it is acting as a protector for Cabeswater, and I, for one, would love to know what exactly is in there that necessitates such strong protection._

_I’m told I have to read the spiel that our Network Overlords, as Henry so fondly calls them, have given me.  Here we go. The Beast tends to target individuals who are in the woods at night, especially between the hours of 11PM and 5AM.  Campus officials recommend avoiding the trails and roads in the area whenever possible, and taking the shuttles that run twice every hour between 8AM and 10PM.  Campus security reminds us that they are doing everything in their power to track the animal down and keep our campus safe._

_This may sound a bit pessimistic, but seeing as the earliest record of The Beast dates back to February of 1966, I don’t think they’re going to have much luck catching it.  Until they are willing to admit that it’s supernatural in nature, their luck isn’t likely to change. Honestly, I’m glad. I’d hate to see such a unique and magnificent creature brought down because people couldn’t bother to respect its boundaries._

_Now, we’re going to go to some light kalimba music.  When we return, I’ll go through the first few years of The Beast’s recorded existence, as well as some theories for what it is and how it came to reside in the middle of our campus.  Until then, stay safe out there, Aglionby._

 

* * *

 

Ronan scowled down at his phone as it vibrated incessantly, each short rattle driving the spikes of anger deeper into his heart.  This was the fourth time his brother had called him tonight. You’d think he’d take a fucking hint.

He took a deep swig of his beer, some cheap shit Kavinsky had probably stolen from the nearby liquor store even though he was loaded with cash.  He finished off the can and crushed it in his hand, grinning when the sharp aluminum pricked the palm of his hand.

“Your dickshit of a brother again?” Kavinsky asked, collapsing beside Ronan and throwing an arm over his shoulder.

Ronan shrugged him off, using the motion to throw the beer can into the darkness, watching as it arched out of sight.  Kavinsky slid a full one into his hand, the tab already cracked open. Ronan didn’t thank him as he drank.

The substance party was in full swing by this time of night, the clearing filled with people, the music filling up his chest and thudding in time with his heartbeat.  Portable strobe lights and disco balls hung from the trees surrounding the clearing, creating a constantly shifting, black and white hellscape. The night smelled like sweat and cheap alcohol, a mixture that Ronan could never decide whether or not he enjoyed.

It was a good system they had going.  Kavinsky provided the substance, everyone else provided the party.

His phone rang again, and Ronan growled, wondering if it was worth Gansey’s silent disappointment to chuck the damn thing after the beer can.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, surging to his feet.  The world swayed dangerously, the trees overhead spinning and reaching towards him, but Ronan gritted his teeth and kept his feet.

“Kick his ass, Lynch!” Kavinsky yelled, saluting him with his own can of beer.

“If only that worked.”

Ronan stalked off into the woods, walking until the substance party was only a dull thudding in his chest and a dim sparkle against the trees before he answered Declan’s call.

_“What.”_

“Hello to you, too, Ronan.”  Declan’s voice was smooth, but Ronan could still hear the sneer in it.  “Where are you?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Are you drunk?”  The judgement transmitted just fine over the phone, and Ronan rolled his eyes to the darkened sky above, ignoring how the motion made his stomach roll dangerously.  Ronan had been getting shitfaced since high school. You’d think Declan’s uptight ass would have loosened over the past few years, but you would have thought wrong.

“Go micromanage someone else, asshole.”  Ronan had a rare flash of yearning for his brother to be standing beside him, if only so he could punch him.  “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“I’m just trying to keep you safe-“

“By keeping me on a leash?  No fucking thanks.”

“Well maybe if Gansey would do a better job-“

“Gansey’s not my keeper,” Ronan growled.  “I’m a goddamned adult, Declan. When are you going to understand that?”

“When you start acting like one!  Jesus, Ronan, I only called to-“

“You called to strongarm me into living my life _your_ way,” he spat.  “Just like always.”

“My way is safer-”

“How the fuck is forcing me to get a degree _safe?”_

“It’s better than ending up a deadbeat high school dropout!  And don’t act like I’m forcing you to go to college. I gave you a choice.”

Ronan gnashed his teeth together so hard he swore something cracked.  “Holding the Barns hostage in exchange for a Bachelor’s is not a _choice,_ Declan.”

“Jesus, Ronan, you twist everything I say.  Everything Mom and Dad had is legally mine, and with them gone it’s my job to ensure that you and Matthew end up with a stable life.  You can’t pretend that they would have been okay with you lazing around at home for the rest of your life.”

“Mom’s not _gone!”_ he yelled, startling a nearby small animal into a flurry of motion.  “Quit fucking talking about her like she’s dead.”

Declan’s voice was quiet.  “Sorry,” he said after a moment.

“And I don’t want to laze around,” Ronan continued.  “I want to take care of the goddamned farm like no one else in this fucking family will.”

“Look, Ronan, we got off topic.  I didn’t call to talk about the inheritance, I called because-”

“I don’t care why you called,” he spat, hanging up the phone and barely managing to curb the urge to slam it against a nearby tree.  He groaned when it started ringing a second later. “Fucking goddamned shit, Declan-“

“Just _listen_ to me for once in your goddamned life, Ronan.”  The shock of hearing Declan curse kept him quiet long enough for Declan to continue.  “Something big is coming. Something with the ley line. I don’t know what it is, but I want you to keep your head down until after the full moon, maybe even leave town-“

“I’m not leaving town.”

“Look, we’re connected because of Mom.  Because of Dad-“

“Don’t talk about them-“

“-and I’m just trying to keep you safe, Ronan.”

“Like hell you are.  You just want me out of the way because you know the line likes me better than you.  Whatever’s happening, you want me gone so you can force your way into it.”

“God, Ronan, that has nothing to do with anything.  We’re not children anymore.”

Ronan scowled down at the forest floor, viciously kicking a rock so it crashed into the darkness, leaving his toes throbbing in beat with his racing heart.

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?”

He hadn’t felt like a kid since he’d found his father lying in a pool of blood in their driveway, head split open and limbs twisted all wrong-

“I’m not leaving,” he repeated.

“Ronan-“

“No.  I’m not.  I don’t give a shit what’s happening with the line, but I’m not leaving.”

Declan sighed through his nose, filling the line with static.  “Fine,” he said. “Fine, throw a tantrum and get yourself hurt.  See if I care.”

He wanted to ask how Declan knew something was coming, if he had ever learned to feel the line humming beneath his feet, but Ronan wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking.  

Ronan hung up, ignoring the _just stay safe_ text that popped up on the screen a second later, shoving it deep into his pocket so he didn’t have to look at it anymore.

He took a slow, bone-achingly deep breath and let it out while counting to ten.  Then, he punched a tree.

The pain flaring up his arm grounded him far better than structured breathing ever could.  Gansey and his fancy psychology articles could bite him.

The bark of the tree was rough against his back, pricking him through his thin shirt as he slid to the ground.  He flexed his hand, grinning at the split skin and aching bones. It didn’t feel as good as when he punched Declan, but, damn, it was close.

Ronan closed his eyes and focused on the throbbing in his knuckles, letting it slide and shift into a different beat, one that came from the tree behind him, the dirt beneath him, the air around him.

The ley line, singing to him as it always had.

He could feel The Beast monitoring the party a few miles to the east, disgruntled and anxious about the mess they were causing.  He wasn’t sure why it never attacked, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Kavinsky. Some deal, some sacrifice, in exchange for the right to defile one of the most powerful spots on the line.  A small part of Ronan wanted to know what K had given up - the part of him that would always be following his mom around the line, infatuated with all things magic - but most of him knew that conversation wasn’t one worth having.  It had to have been something big, and Ronan couldn’t quite stomach the thought of knowing.

Even now, he could feel the energy drain as the line tried to clean up the litter they were constantly leaving.  Slowly, so slowly, it rotted away, barely managing to keep this place from turning into a landfill. Kavinsky’s parties weren’t the main reason the line was limp, but they were definitely a large factor.

Ronan turned his focus to the lines as a whole, to the energy that ran through Henrietta and beyond.

Declan was right, not that Ronan would ever admit it to his face.  Ronan could feel the line building in anticipation, an urgency to the energy that wasn’t usually there.  He’d been feeling it for days now, whenever he bothered to listen. It was preparing for something, and apparently Ronan wasn’t the only one who felt it.  He didn’t know where Declan got his information, how he managed to stay tapped into the magic despite not being favored, but at least he didn’t seem to know what was coming.

Ronan couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that formed on his lips.

 _He_ knew.  Or, at least, he thought he did.

Gansey’s words ripped through his concentration, voice full of excitement and purpose, making Ronan scowl into the darkness.

_It’s starting._

Gansey’s prophecy, Gansey’s king, Gansey’s court.  He’d told Ronan about it days ago, after going to some psychic in town, and Ronan hadn’t known how to feel since.  Not even fucking around with Kavinsky could take the edge off for longer than the fun lasted.

Ronan didn’t trust prophecies.  Ronan didn’t trust magic.

And Ronan certainly didn’t trust four other strangers to watch Gansey’s back.

But Gansey didn’t listen, he never listened, too caught up in finding his lost king and repaying the favor of his life.  Never mind the fact that paying back ten borrowed years wouldn’t be a price that Gansey could possibly pay.

Gansey finding his king and fulfilling his purpose in life may be the very thing that killed him all over again.

The ley line pulsed through him again, and Ronan slammed his fist against the knotted ground.  It didn’t do anything to hurt the magic, he knew, but he liked to pretend it did.

_It’s starting._

The Convergence sang and flared behind him for a brief second before falling quiet once more, a dull humming that moved against Ronan’s skin.  Two different lines, two different energies, meeting in this one small clearing in the middle of campus. If Ronan listened closely enough, he could feel them harmonizing, building off of each other until the energy spun and expanded in a burst that flew across both lines.  But the lines were weak now, ever since his father had been murdered and his mother had fallen into a coma.

_It’s starting._

Gansey would find this place soon, he knew, would figure out that it was something beyond a stupid Ritual Site for wannabe cults and edgy college kids.  He’d figure out that there were two lines, rather than one. He’d figure out that this was where the magic that rang through Aglionby originated, that this was where he’d find his king, or at least his best chance at it.

It wasn’t that Ronan had ever lied to Gansey about the Convergence.  He’d never kept him away from camping out here for entire weekends or from researching the history for countless nights.  He just hadn’t told Gansey about the truth of the magic, because Gansey hadn’t known to ask.

And Ronan wouldn’t tell him, because Ronan didn’t want to lose him.

But it was looking more and more likely that he wouldn’t have a choice.

Ronan wasn’t stupid, no matter what his brother thought.  He knew that the prophecy was going to be dangerous, that whatever the line was preparing for wasn’t likely to be a pleasant stroll in the park.  But he also knew that he wasn’t going to let Gansey face it alone.

He wouldn’t turn tail and run, because he knew damn well Gansey would never come with him.  Not when his king waited on the other side.

Ronan stood up in a surge of energy, kicking the tree he’d been leaning on.  Again and again and again, until his toes were wrecked and his breath hung limp and heavy in his chest.

Gansey had already found Blue, had already decided she was a part of this, and Ronan took only a small amount of solace in the fact that the maggot wasn’t the worst person Ronan could think of to include in all this.  But Parrish - _Adam fucking Parrish_ \- was the cruelest twist of fate that this fucking magic bullshit could throw at him.

His heart beat with something he refused to describe as longing - seeing Parrish under the moonlight, hearing him laugh, feeling him pressed against Ronan when they were crammed into the Pig together-

Ronan kicked the tree again, just to feel something other than helplessness.

He didn’t want Parrish and the maggot to join Gansey’s quest.  He didn’t want two other asshole strangers to join, either. He didn’t want to share his best friend with anyone else.

Exploring the line with Gansey used to be fun.  Ronan had thought of it as a hobby until his parents had been ripped from his life, and even then he’d still thought of it as Gansey’s hobby.  It was something only the two of them shared, and even if it hurt, Ronan wouldn’t have given it up for the world. He didn’t want that to change, didn’t want a fuckton of others butting in on their quiet nights and quieter conversations.

The words from the prophecy spun through his mind, a two-word repeat that hadn’t ended since Gansey had recited the psychics’ words to him.  

_King’s sacrifice._

Ronan refused to lose him.

He’d lost far too much to magic already.

He cursed, a long string of all the worst words humanity was capable of, aiming them at the trees, the soil, the air, hoping that the magic was listening to him like he was listening to it.

Then, when he was so sweaty and sore and exhausted that he almost felt sober again, he went back to Kavinsky.

Joseph Kavinsky was good for three things: drugs, distractions, and parties.  

The drugs were easy.  Kavinsky would sell anything to anyone looking for a high, using that money to bribe the local cops to look the other way.  He’d swung into Henrietta’s drug scene with crushing force, wiping out all of the competition in his freshman year to become the undisputed kingpin of the area.  Ronan knew Kavinsky was backed by his father, some mafia asshole up in Jersey, and he knew Kavinsky was fighting tooth and nail to prove he could thrive without his help.  Ronan never asked how that was going. He knew Kavinsky wouldn’t appreciate the concern.

The distractions were trickier.  Ronan didn’t particularly like Kavinsky, but he was wild and dangerous in a way that dragged Ronan away from the demons scratching at his brain.  Kavinsky was a heightened version of Ronan, untethered from obligations and responsibilities. He was Ronan if he hadn’t had Gansey to pull him back to sanity, all those years ago.  Ronan couldn’t look away, too fascinated in the way they pushed and pulled at each other to try. Ronan punched trees. Kavinsky set them on fire and laughed while they burned. They matched, even if Ronan didn’t always want them to.

The parties were exhilarating.  Every month or so, Kavinsky and his crew would call for a rager at the Ritual Site.  It was the perfect spot. The dense forest on every side blocked the ear-splitting music blasting from the speakers.  The clearing itself kept the small fires they set from spreading. The long trek through darkened paths kept campus security from bothering them.  They got drunk and high underneath the open sky without a care in the world, and Ronan always found himself relaxing into the chaos.

He climbed up next to Kavinsky on the stump, watching as he carved something vulgar into the dense wood.  It would be gone by morning, Ronan knew. Kavinsky must know too, by now, but he never failed to deface the stump in some way every time he was here.

“I like it when you’re like this,” Kavinsky whispered into his ear.

“Angry?”

“Desperate.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan growled.

“With you?  Gladly.”

They never did anything more than kiss, although K would have gladly gone further, even in the middle of a party.  But Ronan never felt the need for anything more with Kavinsky. The taste of someone else’s alcohol in his mouth never failed to set his blood aflame.  It quieted his other demons, and for the moment that was enough.

The night passed in a blur of alcohol and laughter, of rough kisses and rougher words.  Ronan watched Kavinsky and his friends do lines off the tree stump, watched as they strode into the trees with eyes full of mischief, watched as they lit up and burned out as the night went on.  Ronan burned with them, but from a distance.

He could still feel the ley line buzzing through him, building building building to something that would be released all too soon.

_It’s starting._

He drank until it all mixed together, a beehive inside of him that threatened to consume him if he acknowledged it.

Ronan found himself leaning against a tree on the edge of the clearing in a rare moment of peace as he watched the sky grow lighter.  He was drunk enough to call Cheng, he knew, but even if Henry had been on the radio, Ronan had a rule against calling during substance parties.  It would have been all too easy for Kavinsky to find out, and Ronan didn’t have to be sober to know he wouldn’t like how that ended.

They wandered out of the forest when the sky started to give the treetops a tinge of pink flame, and Ronan found himself sitting alone in his BMW - in his dad’s BMW - utterly drained.  But the thought of returning home shot a pulse of energy through him, surging in time with the ley line.

Gansey would be furious when he got back to the dorm with bruised lips and knuckles, too tipsy to stand straight.  His eyes would narrow as he guided Ronan to his bed, he’d purse his lips as he went to fetch a glass of water, he’d sigh sadly as he took Ronan’s shoes off and placed the trash can by his head.  And Ronan would revel in it, would soak in Gansey’s disapproval and disappointment, because for those brief moments he had Gansey to himself.

He wouldn’t, for much longer.

The drive was as blurry as the rest of the night, and Ronan only came back to himself as he struggled to fit their room key into the lock.  Once. Twice. Three times before he realized he was holding the car key, and then he had to do it all over again.

Usually Gansey had opened the door by now, had ushered him in with relief etched into the corners of his face, but Ronan brushed aside the disappointment as he let himself in.  Gansey was probably sleeping for once in his life, without Ronan there to keep him up with his own insomnia.

Or.

Or he wasn’t there at all.

Ronan stared at the empty room for several seconds too long before he entered, not bothering to shut the door behind him.  Had Gansey gone out searching for him? He’d done it before, but that had been during high school, back when Ronan had only started pulling this shit.  There weren’t any new texts or voicemails on his phone, so Gansey hadn’t tried to contact him.

Ronan finally had the bright idea to inventory the room, to search for clues.  Gansey’s exploration backpack was gone, along with the Pig’s keys, but it took Ronan far too long to put the pieces together.

Gansey had decided to explore the line without him.

Betrayal burned through him so strongly that he sat down on the floor, staring at Gansey’s empty bed with an emptier gaze.

Was it starting so soon?  Was he already losing Gansey?

Was Ronan really that easy to leave?

Resentment surged within him, turning his insides white-hot, and he slammed his fist against his bed frame until he could breathe again.

Slowly, he stood up.  

He needed something to drink, something to turn the blurry edges to mush and crush his mind into dust.  Anything to get away from the hot, wet monster that was crawling through his chest and into his throat-

There was a note on his pillow.

The world slammed to a stop, leaving him dizzy and breathless as he clung to the edge of his bed, staring at that folded piece of notebook paper like it was his salvation, his damnation.  

Gansey’s handwriting was a hurried scrawl, with far more dips and curves than usual, and Ronan sat down on his bed as he traced the letters with his fingers.

_Ronan._

Slowly, he unfolded the letter, already dreading what he’d find.

_Henry Cheng called.  Went to Hirshhorn. Be back soon.  Safe dreams. -Gansey_

The crumpled letter was hitting the opposite wall before Ronan even realized what he’d read.

This close to the full moon, Hirshhorn would be an endless maze, easy to enter but impossible to leave.  And that wasn’t even accounting for the line’s gathering energy. Gansey would be in there alone, without Ronan to guide him, to keep him safe by navigating the fluctuating magic.  But Gansey wasn’t alone, was he? No, he had-

“Henry Cheng,” he hissed.

Henry Cheng, who modeled for Ronan’s art classes and gently kissed him in empty hallways, never forcing Ronan to speak, instead trusting him to act.  Henry Cheng, earning Ronan’s voice and truths and fears when he was drunk enough to give them. Henry Cheng, who promised something softer than Kavinsky, but just as exciting, and likely more real.

Henry Cheng, who seemed to be involved in this fucking prophecy.

It was far too late to go after them.  Ronan would only get himself hopelessly lost in the process.  All he could do was wait and hope that Cheng was at least semi-competent and that Gansey wouldn’t try anything stupid.

He should have been here.  Either to stop them or accompany them.

Now all that was left was faith.

“God fucking damn it,” he whispered, collapsing backwards onto the bed, all of the energy seeping out of him.

First Adam.  Then Henry.

As though Gansey alone weren’t bad enough.

All of his secrets were threatening to leak into the world, an oil spill that could no longer be contained.

 _You could just leave,_ he thought, knowing he couldn’t.  Even if Gansey walked away from him, leaving him for newer, kinder, easier friends than Ronan, Ronan could never abandon him.  He didn’t have anyone else.

He didn’t want anyone else.

This prophecy seemed determined to ruin him in every way, but Ronan wouldn’t turn his back on it, because that would mean turning his back on Gansey.  He’d face it, and he’d rejoice in the pain, just as he always did.

Slowly, he gathered the supplies he’d need.  A glass of water from the communal bathroom tap.  A trashcan by his head. A pair of dirty shoes by the door.  A few pills to dull the inevitable headache.

Ronan tucked himself into bed and closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness to come.

 

* * *

 

Henry gazed up at the clear night sky, taking in the moon that was only one short day away from being full.  The ley line would be at its strongest tomorrow, he knew, but it still had plenty of power to accomplish his plans for the night.  He was tempted to wait, knowing that the dramatic impact would be strongest with the full moon, but he was also far too impatient to delay any further

After all, _it’s starting._

Henry tapped his phone awake, seeing that it was finally nearing the appointed hour.

He dialed the number from memory, automatically rubbing his fingers across the wood grain of the bench to ground himself in the present.  Phone calls didn’t tend to throw him into panic attacks anymore, especially when he was the one initiating them, but old habits died hard, especially when they were habits he wasn’t particularly keen on breaking.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

“Hello?”

“Ganseyman!” Henry greeted, the excitement he felt for the coming night easily bleeding into his voice.  “I hope I didn’t wake you?” It was only 11:30, a paltry hour for most college students, but Henry knew that Gansey’s insomnia would occasionally catch up to him and cause him to crash long before the sun set.

“I - Henry?”

“The one and only!” he said, curling his legs up under himself.  “Well, not really. There are like five Henrys in my GenChem class alone, but you get the idea.”  There was a beat of silence, and Henry pushed on. “I _didn’t_ wake you, right?  You sound very much awake, but it’s difficult to tell from three words alone.”

“I’m awake,” Gansey said, which didn’t really answer the question.  Henry didn’t push the issue. “What can I help you with?”

Henry took a breath.  This was the last chance for him to turn back, to make up an excuse and abandon this whole plan, to pretend like the psychics’ words hadn’t ignited a sense of daredevilish adventure within him, a yearning for something more.  This was his last chance to go back to his dorm and pretend to be a normal college student, here solely for cheap alcohol, a bachelor’s degree, and the illusion of freedom.

Henry was growing quite tired of pretending.

“I was wondering if you’d like to meet me at Hirshhorn tonight,” he said, forcing himself to slow his words down to a cool, even crawl, rather than letting them spill out as they crowded in the back of his throat.  “I have something I’d like to show you.”

He wouldn’t have blamed Gansey for declining.  After all, they were mere acquaintances, perhaps friendly coworkers at best, and here Henry was, inviting him out to a late-night rendezvous in what was easily Aglionby’s most magical building.  Gansey would be right to be cautious, to declare Henry a madman and thereby ruin all of his hopes for the prophesied adventure in the coming year. Gansey simply declining was a very real possibility, one that Henry had been dreading since he’d concocted tonight’s plans.

But Henry was banking on one very important thing.

Gansey felt the same sense of destiny stirring within him, the same steady drumbeat pounding in the air and sending shivers across his skin.   _It’s starting, it’s starting._

Gansey was a part of this, and he’d feel that Henry was, too.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Gansey said, the same excitement to his voice, the same eager tone.  “Let me just grab my coat.”

“Beautiful,” Henry said.  “We’ll be just in time for the witching hour.”

All according to plan.

Henry checked his phone religiously, watching as the digital clock creeped ever closer to midnight.  The nearby streetlights provided plenty of illumination to keep his mind separated from the darkness, but he hummed the melody to one of his favorite K-pop songs while he waited, just in case.  Anxiety had a way of multiplying, and he didn’t want the nerves from his plans to accidentally throw him into a full-blown flashback meltdown.

At 11:58, he signed in resignation and slid his phone into his pocket, raising his face to the nearly-full moon above.  Gansey may have given up on him after all, and while his heart grew heavy with regret, he had to admit that he was a bit relieved, too.

This night would not have been an easy one.

He closed his eyes, wondering how he would face Gansey after his shift at the radio station.  Would he play it cool, pretending like there wasn’t a chasm of disappointment eating away at him.  Would he confront him, asking why Gansey had bailed? Or would Henry simply get up and try again?

There was a prophecy, after all.  He had to get in with Gansey _somehow._

Besides, he wasn’t particularly a fan of letting life’s disappointments keep him down.

Someone cleared their throat, and Henry’s eyes shot open, his heart kicking into overdrive as he took in the sight before him.  Tousled brown hair lit by the warm glow of the streetlight, hazel eyes sparking in the shadow of his perfectly sculpted face, a hesitant smile peeking out from beneath his lips.  And all of it framed by a polo shirt the color of a traffic cone, pressed white pants, and boat shoes with little anchors on them.

Gansey really was quite beautiful, in a ridiculous sort of way.

“Ganseyman!” Henry greeted, rocketing to his feet while checking the time.  11:59. Perfect. “I was worried common sense might have gotten the better of you.”

“I’m often told I lack the common sense necessary for survival,” he said, a laugh to his voice.

“No watchdog?” Henry asked, quirking an eyebrow as he scanned the sidewalk behind Gansey, half expecting Lynch to pop out of the bushes.  “Where’d he get off to tonight? I was sure he’d be along for the ride.”

Really, he’d been sure that Lynch wouldn’t have let Gansey wander around Hirshhorn at midnight without him in tow to keep an eye on things.  Henry couldn’t tell if Lynch’s constant presence was born from a sense of protection, jealousy, or horniness, but he knew better than to mess with whatever was stewing between the two boys.  He’d been careful to keep his distance from Gansey for just that reason. Until now, anyways.

Gansey shrugged, face showing a momentary spasm of concern before he managed to even it out again.  “He’s around,” he said carefully. “Will his absence be a problem?”

“Not at all,” Henry said, standing up and swinging his backpack over his shoulder.  “Truth be told, I prefer it this way.” He had done many things with Lynch, but talking had never been one of them.  Henty figured all parties involved would prefer that it stayed that way.

“Why?” Gansey asked as they walked up to the front doors.  Locked, at this time of night, but Henry had long since procured a key.  “What are we doing here, exactly?”

Henry grinned, watching as the clock tipped over to midnight, inserting the key and pulling the door open at the exact moment when one day bled into the next.  

“We’re here because it’s starting, Gansey,” he said, mind buzzing with mischief, excitement, potential.  “It’s finally starting.”

He felt Gansey freeze at his elbow.  “What did you just say?” he asked, voice hushed.

“You heard me,” he said with a grin.  “Now c’mon,” he said as he grabbed Gansey’s toned bicep and pulled him through the entryway.  “The night won’t last forever.”

The door swung shut behind them, leaving them standing in an empty hallway facing a bulletin board plastered with everything from tutoring session times to lost pet posters.  It was the same assortment of papers he’d seen this morning after his modeling session for one of the higher-level art classes, which meant this space still resided within the present time.  The entryway never seemed to shift like the rest of the building, and Henry guessed it acted as a kind of anchor keeping them moored against the stormy seas of spacetime shenanigans.

His gratitude at seeing the bulletin board almost drowned him every time he saw it.  There was always a part of him that couldn’t quite banish the small fear that he’d enter this building at the exact moment that the ley line’s magic spiked in just the wrong way, sending him on a one-way trip back to the 1800’s.  He had no real idea at how this magic worked, after all.

No one did.

He was just the unlucky bastard who had to learn to navigate it, regardless of the risks.

Henry blinked, coming out of his reverie only to find Gansey in a similar state beside him.  What Henry wouldn’t have given to know what he was thinking about in this moment.

“Richardman,” he said instead, lightly touching his shoulder.  “You good?”

“Yes,” Gansey said, starting as though rising from a dream.  “Sorry, got a bit lost.”

“This building will do that to you if you’re not careful,” he replied, watching as Gansey rummaged around in his backpack for a moment before emerging with the largest ball of yarn Henry had ever seen.  “Of course, you seem to know that already,” he said as Gansey tied one end to the front door knob, giving it a light tug before he began to give the line some slack. A trail to follow back as they wandered.  Smart. He wished he’d thought of that during his first few excursions.

“That’s not really necessary with me here,” Henry continued, “but I do appreciate your pragmatism.”  He then pivoted with a dramatic flourish, pointing a few doors down the hallway. Normally, it would have led to a small studio primarily used for yoga classes, but Henry knew that now it would open up into a 2001 hotel room with a fantastic view of the Nile River.

“Follow me, now!” he said, throwing the door open and ushering Gansey and his yarn inside.  “And trust that I know the way.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Gansey asked, slipping into the room.  He didn’t look surprised at the lack of a yoga studio, or at the daylight and dry desert scent streaming through the open window, so Henry figured he’d been correct in his assumption that this wasn’t Gansey’s first venture into Hirshhorn.

A pity, really.  He would have liked to be with Gansey during his first time.

“It’s a surprise,” Henry said, opening the closet door and stepping into a dusty boxing gym.  It was abandoned, as all the rooms here were, but this one contained the distinct musk of sweaty men.  Henry could never decide if he liked it or not.

“But-“

“All will be revealed,” he said, gently pushing one of the large punching bags hanging from the ceiling so it swung back and forth, creaking ominously in the silence.  It was a habit from the hundreds of times he’d passed through this room alone, music blasting in his ears to try and drown out his anxiety. “Have no fear.”

Gansey hummed, stopping to watch as the bag gently came to rest.  “I think fear is quite healthy in certain situations.”

“Are you afraid now, Gansey?”  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized exactly how much they made them sound like some B-list serial killer, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret them.  If Gansey was afraid - of either Henry himself or this situation as a whole - then he’d turn right around and do this whole thing in the student commons or something. As much as he wanted to give this night a sense of dramatic flair while taking a step toward facing his own personal demons, he wasn’t willing to put Gansey through anything potentially traumatic.  That was certainly no way to begin deepening a relationship.

“I’m not afraid, exactly,” Gansey said slowly, running his fingers over the seam of the punching bag.  “Nervous, maybe. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know you very well, Henry, and this isn’t exactly a typical outing.  I don’t know what we’re doing here, and things go wrong with this kind of magic all the time.”

“Maybe you have some common sense after all,” he quipped, a grin spreading across his face.  Gansey didn’t smile back, and Henry held back a sigh as he let his own smile fall away. This was a systemic problem in Henry’s psyche, always feeling closer to people than they felt to him.  “I promise I know what I’m doing in here, Gansey. I won’t hurt you, and I won’t let anything else hurt you, either.”

Gansey nodded, his gaze traveling up to the ceiling as he thought.  The dusty sunbeams played across his face, bringing a sense of yearning to his expression that hadn’t been there before.  He looked so young, standing in the midst of a room that probably didn’t even exist in the present. A boy lost in time.

“Gansey,” Henry said, a hushed gravitas to his voice.  It felt like the room was listening, like it was weighing their words and deciding if they were worthy.  No, not the room. The building, the ley line, the _magic._  “Do you trust me?”

Gansey pulled away from the punching bag, taking a step toward Henry.  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think I do.”

They continued in silence after that, Henry surefooted as he led them through a maze of impossible rooms.  Dance studios led into grand ballrooms led into dusty storerooms. At one point they climbed through a wardrobe sitting in the back of a bedroom from the 1950s and stepped out of a set piece from Aglionby’s production of _Fiddler on the Roof_ their freshman year.  

Throughout it all, Henry watched as Gansey explored the rooms, so pure in the simple joy of walking through a paradox.  His face brightened every time he found something that whispered of magic - a crisp newspaper from 1931, a warm plate of _bao_ sitting on a dining room table, a whiff of the ocean from an open window.  Henry’s heart warmed as he watched, glad that Gansey was relaxing enough to let Henry see his joy.  He could have stayed there forever, showing Gansey oddities he’d found throughout the years and grinning at his childlike excitement.

Eventually, though, Gansey’s yarn had to run out.

They were in an art studio filled with half-finished sculptures when Gansey stopped, his voice filled with a resigned sadness.

“Henry.”

“Ricky Boy” he replied, turning to face him.

“We shouldn’t go any further,” Gansey said, holding up the end of the string.  “We’ll lose the path back.”

“You said you trust me,” Henry said.  “Does that still hold true?”

“I think so.”

Henry shook his head.  “Trust isn’t something you think about.  It’s something you know.”

Gansey grew distant, once again searching himself for answers that Henry couldn’t guess at, and once again Henry could feel the press of magic bearing down on them.  Watching, listening, waiting for Gansey’s reply.

He dropped the string.

“I trust you.”

“Glad to hear it,” Henry said, something within him soothing at Gansey’s words.  Even now, when they were so close, he expected Gansey to turn around and walk away.  “We’re almost there.”

“Where is ‘there,’ exactly?” Gansey asked, but Henry only winked in reply, opening the door to the next room.  “Ronan always did say I would follow a mystery off a cliff if it promised to be interesting,” he sighed, following Henry.

“Ganseyman, are you calling me interesting?”

“At this point, I don’t think you qualify as anything else.”

“And to think, we’re just starting the fun bit of the evening,” Henry said, moving through a few more rooms before finally coming to a stop at a simple wooden door.  His heart picked up speed as he thought of what lay beyond it, and he hoped Gansey couldn’t notice the slight tremors wracking both his body and voice.

“This,” he said as grandly as he was able, “is here.”  If Gansey noticed him shudder as he grasped the doorknob, he was kind enough not to mention it.

The room was a punch to the gut.  Stale air seeped outward, and Henry still didn’t know if it was his memories or the room itself that carried the scent of fear and desperation.  Gansey eased into the room, peering at the faded stains on the concrete floor, the wad of used duct tape sitting on a simple metal folding chair, the child’s shoe lying discarded in the corner.  And, of course, the small, wooden door set into the middle of the floor.

“Don’t open that,” Henry croaked as Gansey knelt down.  “Please.”

Gansey pulled back from the handle, instead running his fingers along the grain of the wood as he looked at Henry, still frozen in the doorway.  

“What happened here?” he asked quietly.

Henry slowly peeled himself away from the wall, making his way to sit beside Gansey on unsteady feet.  “How much do you know about Hirshhorn’s magic?” he asked, somehow knowing Gansey would be kind enough to roll with the sudden subject change.

“Less than you, I suspect.”

He gave a weak snort.  “A fair assumption at this point in the night.”  Henry grabbed his shoelace, winding it around his fingers as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts.   _Start with the easy stuff,_ he told himself.   _Work your way up from there._

“When it has the energy,” he began, voice cracking slightly, “Hirshhorn is a conglomeration of the physical spaces existing within every single person who has ever set foot inside this building.  At least, that’s the best guess I have at this point.”

What do you mean?  How does that work?”

“I think it takes rooms that are important to people and collects them, stringing them all together into an infinite space.  That’s why you get an impossible maze that seems to stretch through time, why a bedroom from 1920s France can be connected to a modern locker room.”  He grew quiet, pulling the shoelace so tight that it started to cut off his circulation. “As far as I can tell, the best time to enter is at midnight on the full moon.  That’ll give you the best chance of not being forcibly pulled back to the entryway like a rubber band snapping back into place. I can only describe the sensation as unpleasantly nauseating.”  He unwrapped the shoelace, stretching his fingers out as they throbbed angrily. “For a while, I thought this place was just generating random rooms as I explored. But then I stumbled upon this.”  He tapped his knuckle against the concrete, voice growing unnaturally quiet. “This room is one of mine.”

“Henry,” Gansey said quietly.  “Why am I here?”

“Because this was the best way I could think of to show you who I am.”  He took a deep breath before reaching over and grabbing Gansey’s hand, using the warmth to ground him.  Gansey squeezed, face awash with concern, and Henry squeezed back.

“When I was ten years old,” he began, “I was kidnapped.  My mother is a psychic, a powerful one, surrounded by powerful people.  One of her clients took me to try and get answers from her. Answers she wouldn’t give.”  He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the echoing screams of his younger self from his mind.  “I was kept in this room for five days before she managed to direct the police here. Mostly, I was in here,” he said, knocking his foot against the trap door.  “I’ll spare you the grisly details, but suffice it to say that I now have a severe fear of small, dark, enclosed spaces.”

“Jesus,” Gansey said, rubbing his thumb along the back of Henry’s hand in calm, soothing circles.  “Jesus, Henry-“

“I’ve visited this room three times since I found it,” he said, cutting off any meaningless platitudes Gansey could say.  “This is the first time I’ve managed to actually enter it.” He squeezed Gansey’s hand again, suddenly lightheaded. Afraid, but happy.  “One day I want to make it into the hole. Face my fears and all that.”

“That’s brave of you.”

“I suppose,” Henry said.  “Although I don’t think of it that way.”

“What, then?”

“Necessary.”

“Really?  Even in such a direct manner?”

Henry hummed softly, closing his eyes for a moment.  “I must admit I’m not fond of the fact that I can be driven to a mental breakdown simply by locking me in a closet.  I’ve taken pains to work on my fear over the last few years, but exposure therapy can only do so much in the face of such severe trauma.  Facing it directly might help me assuage my fears.” Henry paused, opening his eyes and gazing at Gansey. “I’m not there yet, but I hope to be one day.”

“You’re amazingly honest about all of this.”

“That’s the whole point of tonight, Dick Three.  Complete and total honestly. And in the interest of being honest, I must confess why I know the magical side of Hirshhorn’s layout like the back of my hand.”

“I was wondering about that,” Gansey said.  “How much time have you spent in here?”

“Oh, a few nights a week since I started attending Aglionby,” he said.  “My mother struck a deal with the Greenmantles, you see. I’m to be protected during my time here in exchange for dibs on any magical items I dig up while poking around campus.  Hirshhorn is a decidedly poke-worthy place.”

Gansey stared at him, incredulous.  “The _Greenmantles?_ ”

“Colin Greenmantle bribed his way into the college presidency for the sole purpose of having his finger on the ley line’s pulse.  I’m told he’s akin to a magical mafia boss, performing all kinds of dastardly deeds in order to collect magical items and gain power.  I recommend staying away from him.”

“And you’re helping him?”

“Not much of a choice, Ganseyman.  Mother’s orders. She doesn’t want a repeat of what happened in this room.  If it helps, I haven’t found anything powerful in here. Only trinkets, really.  And if I find anything good, it’s certainly not finding its way into their hands through me.”

He was purposefully trying to sound blasé, but his situation at Aglionby was not one that he particularly enjoyed.  Forced to forage for magical items to give to horrible, powerful people was not how he would have chosen to spend his college years, but he supposed it was better than the alternative of ending up kidnapped again.  Until tonight, he hadn’t been able to tell anyone, either, lest they accidentally got dragged into the entire affair - if they even would have believed his tale of magic and mayhem in the first place. Henry was pretty sure all of Litchfield thought he was an insomniac, when the truth was that he practically injected coffee into his bloodstream to keep going on a daily basis.

Gansey was silent a moment, and then he gave Henry’s hand a light squeeze.  “You’re not who I thought you were, Henry.”

“The night isn’t over yet, Gansey,” he said softly.  “Do you trust me?”

“I’ve already answered that.”

“I need you to answer me again, in light of new information.”

Gansey looked at him, and Henry suddenly became aware of how _close_ they were.  It would only take a slight tilt of the head, a gentle shift forward-

How poetic it would be, kissing in the very site of his childhood trauma.

“Do _you_ trust _me?_ ” Gansey asked, voice low, mint-tinted breath swirling in the space between them.

Henry was leaning into him before he could stop himself, pressing their lips softly together, sparks dancing down his spine as Gansey pressed back, his free hand coming up to cup the back of Henry’s head, fingers curling into his hair.  Henry grasped the collar of Gansey’s shirt, thumb resting against his racing pulse as he tilted his head, lips parting in a silent question. _More?_

“Oh,” Gansey said, pulling back, face flushed and breathless.  “Oh, that was-“

He stopped, and Henry didn’t let himself think about all the ways that sentence could have ended, on what Gansey’s hesitation could mean.  Instead, he focused on what he knew for sure.

“I trust you,” he said, meeting Gansey’s hazel gaze in the near darkness, trying to tell him without words how important this kind of unequivocal trust was for Henry.  How rare. Henry had never before given all of himself to someone like this. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

They were sitting in the very room that haunted Henry’s nightmares, yet he was feeling steadier by the minute with Gansey beside him.  Safe. It was something he hadn’t expected tonight, but something he welcomed all the same. He rubbed his thumb over Gansey’s knuckles, hoping he felt the same bond, hoping he didn’t pull away.

“Oh,” Gansey repeated, lightly brushing his lips with the fingertips of his free hand.  “Well. Good. That’s good.” He nodded disjointedly a few times, gaze slightly unfocused.  “Trust is good.”

“Trust is good,” Henry repeated slowly, fearing this night may have broken Gansey.  There was only so much one person could take, after all, but he felt it was vital to reveal the whole of himself at once.  No mistakes, no misconceptions, no misunderstandings.

Just complete honesty and vulnerability, no matter how terrifying the concept.

“One last thing, Gansey,” he said softly, turning Gansey’s hand over in his own and placing something small and warm in his palm.  Small and warm and _moving._

“Henry-“

“Trust me,” he said, moving his hands so they hovered beside Gansey’s, revealing a small, metallic bee sitting in the middle of his palm.  

Gansey’s reaction was instantaneous, but crooked, inverted, _wrong_.  Instead of a smile and a gaze full of wonder at the magic he held, Gansey froze, breath caught in his throat as his fingers twitched slightly, almost as though he were struggling not to flinch.  The rest of his muscles went completely rigid, his body coiled so tight that Henry feared he would snap beneath his touch. Gansey’s eyes snapped to Henry’s, the whites shining in the darkness as his pupils shrank to pinpricks.  

Henry’s hands curled around Gansey’s wrist, fingers pressing against his shattered pulse.  “Ganseyman,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. It was supposed to be him panicking in this room, not Gansey.  He wasn’t prepared for this. Henry’s breath caught in his throat at the thought of both of them losing themselves in here, but he managed to force a calmness to his voice.  “It’s okay.”

Gansey took a rattled breath, body shuddering slightly beneath Henry’s touch.  “It’s okay,” he repeated. “This is RoboBee. He won’t hurt you.”

He told RoboBee to leave Gansey’s hand, watching as Gansey’s eyes jerked downward, breath catching again before he realized RoboBee was turning in slow, non-threatening circles.  Henry began tapping his fingers rhythmically along the inside of Gansey’s wrist, hoping the soft drumbeat would ground him as much as the touch was grounding Henry..

He watched as Gansey sucked in a breath, slightly deeper than the last.  

Another.

Another.

“RoboBee?” he finally asked, voice cracking at the seams as his eyes darted up to Henry’s for a brief second before falling back down, tracking RoboBee’s every movement.

“He’s a robot.  Sort of. Here, see?” he said, lifting one hand closer to Gansey’s face and letting RoboBee land on his outstretched finger.  Gansey froze, but his posture slowly thawed as he took in the tiny details. The soft, warm glow emanating from RoboBee’s abdomen, the circuitry woven through his wings, the miniscule gears and pistons in his legs.  

“He won’t sting you, I promise,” Henry said, assuming that was the problem here.  That was the only worrisome thing about bees, really. “And even if he did, I don’t think it would hurt that much.  His needle is really small, and he doesn’t have wasp venom or anything. It’s a tranquilizing serum. You’d just feel a tiny prick and then go to sleep for a few hours.”

Gansey nodded slowly, but Henry couldn’t tell if his babbling was having any effect.  

“What is he?”

Henry hummed, taking the words, and the curiosity behind them, as a good sign.  Slowly, he had RoboBee lift from his finger and fly into his hair, safely out of sight.

“You know the ley line runs beneath campus.  You know magic exists. You’ve seen it, felt it, sought it out.”  Gansey nodded, although Henry didn’t really need confirmation. He’d listened to Gansey’s radio shows, after all.  “My mother runs in influential, often magical circles, and one of her clients gave her RoboBee as payment for a reading.  As the only one in the family without psychic powers - the one who is the most vulnerable, the most in need of protection - she gave him to me.  We’re…connected. He can basically read my thoughts.”

“Is he alive?”

“Not really, no,” he said slowly.  “Not in the way that science understands life.  He can do a lot of things - basically anything a high-end phone can do - but he can’t think for himself.  It feels wrong to think of him as just a _thing,_ though, since he’s a part of me.  Or, more accurately, an extension of me.”  RoboBee flew out of his hair and landed on his finger once again as Henry held him up for inspection.  “You’re safe around him, Gansey. He won’t hurt you.”

Gansey nodded, although he didn’t take his eyes off of the little robotic insect.  “Henry,” he said, still sounding a little shaky, but far steadier than mere moments before.  “Why have you done all of this?”

“I told you.  It seemed like the best way to show you who I am.”  He gestured to himself with a small flourish, the confined space and Gansey’s proximity limiting his movements.

“No, I mean…” Gansey trailed off and he leaned back slightly, gazing up at the ceiling as he thought.   _“Why?_  You’re doing this for a reason, a reason other than the, uh-“  He broke off, running his fingers over his lips again.

“Oh, right.”  Henry bobbed his head a few times, the cool metal of his dangling earring slapping against his neck with the motion.  “You’re talking about the prophecy.”

Gansey blinked, his eyes focusing on Henry again with a rapt attention.  “You’ve heard it?”

“Not exactly.  I’ve heard _of_ it.  Of your quest.  I’ve heard that I’m to help you, if all goes right.”

“Help me,” Gansey repeated, much more of a question than a request.

“I regularly go to a psychic’s place in town for readings, mostly to get information on whatever my mom doesn’t feel like telling me,” he said, tapping his fingers against his shoe.  “Also, they make very good pie, but that’s beside the point. A few weeks ago, they told me that a king would need me to complete a quest, that without me the king’s court would be unable to stop the Unmaker.  And before you ask, no, I don’t know what that is. They didn’t seem to, either.”

“It’s starting,” Gansey whispered.

“Yes, they said that too.”  Henry paused, tipping his head back and forth slightly as he searched for the proper words to express himself.  “That’s what this all is. I figured that we should know each other as deeply as possible if I was to join this quest of yours.  And what’s deeper than childhood trauma and family secrets?” He paused for a moment. “I trust you, Gansey. With all of me, even the messy bits.”

Gansey nodded, squeezing his hand.  It grounded him, to know that he wasn’t alone here.  It made all of this possible to bear. He wondered if it was helping Gansey, too.  “Thank you, Henry. I - Thank you. This means a lot. And I don’t know what I’m going to do about this prophecy, but you’re more than welcome to help me figure it all out.”

Henry grinned, a warmth spreading through him.  Happiness, he knew; a miracle in this room.

“But how did you know it was me?” Gansey continued after a moment.  “How did you know it wasn’t, I don’t know, Tad or Skov or that guy who sits in the quad playing the ukulele all night?  My name isn’t in the prophecy. Did the psychics mention me?”

Henry snorted.  “Oh, please, Dickman.  It wasn’t hard to figure out.  You’re by far the most kingly person I know.”

“Oh,” Gansey said, his darkening cheeks obvious even in the darkness.  His lips parted slightly, and for a moment Henry thought he was going to lean in for another kiss, but Gansey stayed stubbornly distant.  A pity. “Henry, I think I need to tell you something.”

“I’m all ears.  Not really, though.  That would be freaky, wouldn’t it?  No eyes or nose or hair, just ears all around-”

“Henry.”

“Right, sorry.”

Gansey took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes for a moment as he squeezed Henry’s hand.  Needing comfort, now, rather than giving it. Henry squeezed back, providing what he could.

“When I was ten years old, I was out playing hide-and-seek in the woods with some other kids and I - I stepped on a nest of hornets.  They were - everywhere.” Gansey fingered his ear with his free hand, and Henry could practically see him reliving the experience, the little legs crawling along the skin, wings brushing against his hair as they stung again and again and again.  “I’d always been horribly allergic,” Gansey continued, voice growing fainter by the second. “I’d been stung a few times before this, but quick reflexes and the constant presence of EpiPens had always managed to save my life. I didn’t have any of that this time, though.  I died alone on the forest floor.”

Henry opened and closed his mouth a few times before he landed on a few strangled words.  “You _died?”_

“I felt my heart stop.  I-“ he broke off, swallowing thickly, and Henry gave his hand another squeeze.  “The last thing I remember thinking was _Why are they still stinging me if I’m already dead?_  And then there was just - nothing.”  He paused again, obviously gathering himself.  “I don’t tell this next part to most people, Henry.  No one believed me until I managed to tell Ronan and I don’t…it’s hard, having your family call you delusional for half your life.”

“Gansey, we are currently sitting inside a room that a building stole from my brain.  I’m in no position to disbelieve whatever you have to say.”

“Okay,” he said, giving a shaky laugh.  “Okay. I woke up, obviously. That’s not in question.  Everyone insists it was some sort of medical miracle, that I managed to stick myself with an EpiPen and it somehow worked, conveniently ignoring the fact that I both didn’t have an EpiPen on me and that the sheer volume of venom in my system would have killed a healthy adult, let alone a severely allergic child.”  Gansey brushed his hand through his hair, and Henry could see him trying to brush away phantom hornets. “A miracle is easier to believe than magic, I guess.”

“What kind of magic?”

“I don’t know.”  His eyes met Henry’s, and he could have spent an eternity in their depths.  “I woke up, and there was a voice, deep and resonant, echoing through my head as my heart stuttered back to life.   _You will live because of Glendower.  Be sure to repay his favor.”_

Henry was quiet at that, his mind filtering through all of the information, cataloguing it and fitting it into what he already knew of Gansey.  He was, perhaps, not quite the boy Henry had thought him, but that didn’t feel like a bad thing. Slowly, he nodded.

“Gansey,” he said, “if I had known about this, the last thing I would have done was put RoboBee into your hand like that.  I apologize.”

“Oh, it’s - fine,” Gansey said, seemingly caught off guard.  Perhaps he’d been expecting a different reaction, one akin to what he’d previously received from everyone except Lynch.  Henry couldn’t blame him. There was a reason he hadn’t shown RoboBee to anyone outside of his immediate family, and it wasn’t just because he was better protection as a secret.  People didn’t believe in magic, and those few that did tended to believe for all the wrong reasons.

“You have my permission to shove me into a small, dark space at some point, yeah?” Henry said, mind snapping back to the present.

“I don’t think I’ll be doing that, no.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason.”

They fell into silence, content for the moment in being close to one another, both physically and emotionally.  Henry focused on the warmth in his heart, on the wonder of revealing himself to another and being accepted, fully and unconditionally.  The satisfaction of finally being known made this night more than worth the anxieties it had brought. He could only hope that Gansey felt the same.

“Let’s get out of here, Dickman” he said, tugging him to his feet.    “The night is nearing a close, and you still have to recollect the mile of yarn.”

“That sounds like a heavenly idea,” Gansey said with no small amount of relief in his voice.  “I mean no offense, but tonight was quite a lot.”

“Was it worth it?”

Gansey blinked at him in confusion.  “Of course it was,” he said as they stepped out of the room.  A weight lifted from Henry’s soul, but he didn’t know if it was the freedom Gansey’s words offered him, or his freedom from the room.

“That’s a relief to hear, Ganseyman,” he said, giving Gansey’s hand one final squeeze before letting them slip apart.  “Thank you.”

“Of course, Henry.  It’s what friends do.”

He wondered if all of Gansey’s friends kissed him, and if Gansey kissed all of them back.  

Something told Henry that, romantic inclinations aside, whatever pull he was feeling was stronger than simple friendship.  Whatever bond had begun to form tonight, whatever bonds would be formed during the course of this adventure, would lead them to a relationship of more than chit-chat and gossip.  It would lead to something unbreakable.

He couldn’t wait.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! This is the last chapter that I wrote for the TRC Big Bang 2019, but the fic is far from over! I'll have an update in a few months when I finish writing/editing the next section :) Thanks for your support <3
> 
> Content Warnings: Descriptions of violence and past child abuse

_Welcome back, Aglionby.  I hope you had a pleasant week.  This morning we’ll be discussing one of the most popular spots on our campus.  Most of you probably haven’t trekked through Cabeswater to reach The Ritual Site, or spent the night there like I have, but you’ve probably seen it on the screen.  It’s been featured in multiple supernatural-reality shows and even a few movies, and it is easily the most-filmed spot on our campus, much to the administration’s dismay._

_The Ritual Site is a small, secluded clearing located deep in the Eastern portion of Cabeswater.  The path from the road is unmarked, but once you find it it’s a wonderful stroll. The clearing itself doesn’t appear to be much, except for the large tree stump located directly in the center._

_Many believe it is located on the ley line that runs through Henrietta, and as such it is a special location in many circles.  Among the student body, it is famous for being the location of drunken nighttime revelry, safe from campus security’s interference.  Among the Wiccan, it is the location of gatherings during the solstices. Among our local psychic population, it is believed to hold the power to make their abilities stronger._

_Then, there are the groups that gave The Ritual Site its name and its infamy among the general population of the world: The cults._

_In the past, several different religious sects claimed The Ritual Site as their own, using the tree stump as a sort of altar.  They would sacrifice small animals in an attempt to increase their own power and influence, or, in some cases, in an attempt to summon demons from beyond this plane of existence.  I’m sorry to say that the ritualistic killings were not always limited to animals. On three separate occasions, human lives were taken in that clearing._

_Thankfully, those kinds of practices have fallen far out of favor, and The Ritual Site is now home to only inebriated college students and friendly locals.  In a bit, we’ll go into more details on The Ritual Site’s bloody history, focusing on the victims but also touching on the groups that killed them. First, though, we’ll listen to a personal favorite of mine: The Name of Life from Studio Ghibli’s Spirited Away soundtrack.  See you on the other side, Aglionby._

 

* * *

 

Gansey make a wide left turn, internally berating himself for yet again failing to take the Camaro in to get the power steering installed.  At least driving was always a workout - one he sorely needed since he’d neglected to stay with Aglionby’s crew team this year. It just didn’t bring him the same joy as it had in high school, and he had grown tired of trying to recapture those supposed glory days.  Instead, he wanted to focus on things that made him happy _now,_ things like sputtering across campus in a car nearly-full of mostly-strangers on their way to explore the ley line and potentially fulfill a world-altering prophecy.

Stuff like that just didn’t compare to crew, really.

Not that his parents would ever understand that.

Henry laughed in the backseat, a bright chime warding away Gansey’s dark thoughts, and he refocused on the present, listening while Blue and Henry got into a heated debate to determine what the world’s worst anime was.  He glanced over at Ronan, a bit surprised that he wasn’t warming to the conversation seeing as he’d been quite into anime in high school.

That had been before his father’s death, though.  Before his mother’s coma.

That had been a different Ronan entirely.

Gansey hummed to himself, subconsciously running his thumb across his bottom lip, eventually determining to let matters lie.  Ronan would talk when he was ready to talk. Or, more likely, he wouldn’t. Gansey wouldn’t push him, not tonight.

For now, it was enough that he was here, at his side.  The night wouldn’t have been right, otherwise.

Gansey stopped the Camaro in front of St. Agnes, their final planned destination, at eleven o’clock on the dot.  He instantly perked up when he saw Adam already waiting on the front steps of the old church, dusted in a dull orange light that made Gansey’s stomach flutter..  St. Agnes was still a functioning chapel on campus, providing masses for several different religious denominations, but its upper floor also served as a dorm. It was coveted for its seclusion, seeing as all the rooms were singles, and Gansey wondered how Adam had managed to snag one.  

“Sorry,” Gansey said as Adam pulled open the Camaro’s back door, “Ronan already took shotgun.”

A flash of surprise ran across Adam’s face as he blinked over at Ronan, who was scowling at the dashboard like he wanted nothing more than to set fire to it.  This wasn’t a new development - he’d been acting like this since Henry had gotten into the car, but Gansey was intimately familiar with Ronan’s varieties of anger, and he had easily read Ronan’s tense posture as uncomfortable, rather than violent.  Adam’s presence only seemed to intensify the feeling.

“Do you two know each other?” Gansey asked.

“We’re in Latin together,” Adam said as he looked away from Ronan, sounding more like a deflection than an answer.

Had Adam had an unfortunate encounter with Ronan at some point?  Had Henry? They wouldn’t have been the first. Gansey watched as Adam’s face carefully rearranged itself back into a neutral expression as he turned his full attention to the backseat passengers.

“Time to get cozy!” Henry announced, squishing himself against Ronan’s side of the car while Blue grumpily arranged herself in the middle.  

“I don’t see why I have to get stuck in between two unfamiliar boys,” she said.  “If anyone should get shotgun, it should be me.”

“We can switch, if you’d like,” Adam said, peering uncertainly into the car.  “At least then you’d have a window seat.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Ronan growled, the first words he’d spoken since he’d gotten into the car.  “She just likes to complain.”

“Fuck off, Lynch.”

“You first, maggot.”

“Do you really think I’m unfamiliar?” Henry asked, placing a hand against his heart.  “My darling Blueberry, we’ve known each other for years.”

“Just because you’re a regular customer of my mothers’ doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“You came to my birthday party!”

“I came for the free champagne and the bounce house.  You had nothing to do with it.”

Henry crossed his arms and puffed out his cheeks in an obvious pout.  “Rude!”

Adam lightly knocked on the Pig’s roof to gain their attention.  “So can I sit down, or do you want the window seat, miss?”

Blue looked his over, not bothering to hide the fact that she was judging him intensely.  Adam glared back, refusing to be cowed. That, apparently, went a long way in Blue’s opinion, because she patted the open space beside her.  “You may sit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Adam said, gingerly sitting down in the seat behind Gansey and pressing himself as far against the door as he could get, presumably to give Blue some breathing room.  Whether that was because Adam was trying not to crowd the only girl in a carful of boys or because he could already tell how ferocious Blue could be, he wasn’t sure, but Gansey found himself thankful regardless.  

He liked Adam quite a lot.

He liked them all quite a lot.

Gansey introduced Adam to everyone and waited until they were all buckled up before setting off with no particular destination in mind.  

“So,” he began.  “I bet you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here tonight.”

“Way to not sound like a super villain there, Dick Three,” Henry quipped.

“I received a prophecy from Blue’s mothers last week,” he continued, grabbing a folded piece of paper from the cup holder.  “Here. Pass it around.” He handed it to Ronan, who immediately tossed it into the backseat. Adam, thankfully, appeared to be reading it over.  “It seems to say that something evil will be awoken, and that we have to stop it somehow, perhaps by awakening the two other sleepers,” he said, mostly for Ronan’s benefit.  Gansey had been talking about it nonstop since he’d received it, but he was never sure if Ronan was actually listening. “If we fail, the psychics said that the town could be ruined.”

Gansey already had the exact words of the prophecy burned into his mind, repeating endlessly since he’d first heard them.

 

Three sleepers lie on the line,

Waiting for their time to rise.

A king’s favor repaid awakens the first,

Granting a wish that could save them all.

A king’s mistake awakens the second,

Unleashing power that will corrupt everything held dear.

A king’s sacrifice decides the fate of the third,

Who will he choose, and who will he lose?

 

A Court of Six will gather in the time of need,

Rising to banish the coming darkness.

The King to lead them,

The Magician to save them,

The Mirror to protect them,

The Dream to inspire them,

The Light to guide them,

The Heart to bring them together as one.

Each is vital for survival; without one, all will fall.

 

Three sleepers must awaken,

Three sleepers must not fall,

Three sleepers must rest once and for all.

The fate of the whole  rests within the choices of a king.

Who will rise,

And who will fall?

 

“You think I’m involved in this?” Adam asked, frowning down at the paper.  “Why?”

“Because you’re special, Adam,” Gansey said plainly.  “You all are. And I think I need you to do this. Whatever _this_ is.”

“I’m not special,” Adam said, handing the paper to Blue.  “I told you before, I don’t really care about this stuff. A supposed prophecy that may or may not have anything to do with me doesn’t change that.”

“Just because you don’t care doesn’t mean you aren’t involved,” Henry said, leaning into Blue to read.  “I’m involved in all sorts of stuff I don’t care about.”

“There’s no proof, though,” Adam said.  “Even if this is real - and I’m not saying it is - then there’s no way to prove that I’m one of the ‘Court of Six’ or whatever.  Those descriptions could be referring to anyone.”

“First off, this is straight from my moms, so it’s the real deal,” Blue said, flicking the paper.  “They’re the only legit psychics in town, and they haven’t shut up about this since Richie Rich over there finished his reading.  Secondly, I’m told that you have to have a little faith in magic for it to work.”

“Faith and I usually don’t see eye-to eye.”

“Well buckle up, Buttercup,” Henry said.  “I’ll carry us through. I’ve got enough faith for the both of us.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Gansey said.

“It does if you have faith that it will!” Henry said, grinning at him through the rearview mirror.  Gansey couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him.

“Adam,” he said, sobering for a moment.  “You’re a part of this because I want you to be, and I think you want to be, too.  If that’s not true, if you don’t want to do this, then you’re free to go. I share the belief that fulfilling prophecies should be a voluntary endeavor.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Adam repeated before growing quiet for a moment, and Gansey felt the familiar pang of anxiety when he realized Adam was seriously considering walking out.   _Without one, all will fall._

Adam may not believe that he was important, but Gansey _knew_ he was.  He could feel it stirring within him every time their eyes met, every time his heart sang in tune to Adam’s voice.  Even if he decided not to partake in the quest, that fact wouldn’t change.

“I don’t know any of you,” Adam said slowly.  “I’m not fond of the idea of going on a life-changing quest with you, especially one detailed in a prophecy that specifically mentions ‘sacrifice,’ ‘loss,’ and the heavy implication of death.  If this is real, if this is as important as you’re saying, then I think it’d be safer if I stayed out of it.”

“That’s-“

 _“But,”_ Adam said, interrupting Gansey.  “But. I want to see where this leads.  I’ll stick around for tonight, at least.”

“My man, Parrish,” Henry said, leaning over Blue to give Adam a fist-bump.  “Risk makes life more interesting, yeah?”

“My life has never been particularly safe,” Adam replied with a shrug.  “I don’t see why tonight should be any different.” The words would have been bitter if they hadn’t been so resigned, and Gansey had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to hug him.

“Well,” Gansey said, forcing a bit of pep into his voice.  “I hope we run into something interesting, then.”

“Where _are_ we headed?” Blue asked, leaning forward to see where they were.  “Through Cabeswater?”

“Adam and I ran into something odd a few days ago,” Gansey said.  “I figured we could at least drive through, just to see if anything happens tonight.”

Blue hummed, sitting back.  “I thought we’d be going ghost hunting or something.  This is way more lame.”

“We can do that, too,” Gansey said, feeling his face grow warm.  Ronan snickered in the passenger seat, but Gansey pretended to ignore him.  “It’s the full moon. Something is bound to be afoot on campus tonight.”

“If you don’t even have a plan for tonight,” Blue said, “how are you going to have a plan to stop this all-corrupting evil that’s coming?”  The weight of her judgement was heavy, but it was the truth behind them that made his shoulders droop.

“Now, dearest Blueberry.  This is the first time the Court has gathered,” Henry said, rallying Gansey’s spirits.  “He can’t have this whole plot figured out when we’re still in the prologue. And besides, we can’t even be sure that Gansey is the King.  For all we know, Lynch could be the one destined to lead us.”

That got a spattering of laughs, as well as a magnificent sneer from Ronan.

“I’m not necessarily the King,” Gansey said.  “It could easily be Henry. Or Adam.”

“Or _me,”_ Blue said.  “Girls can be kings.  Don’t be sexist.”

“I - sorry,” he said, cheeks reddening again.  “I didn’t mean-“

“I’m just fucking with you,” she said, laughing and smacking his shoulder lightly.  “I doubt I’m the King. I’m too much of a loner to be a leader.”

“How uncharacteristically self-aware of you,” Ronan said dryly.

“I’m out, too, then,” Adam said.

“Lucky me, still in the race,” Henry said.  “I still vote Gansey for King, though. He started all this.”

“Fair enough,” Blue said with a shrug.  “Who do you think you are, then? My moms seem to think I’m the Magician.”

“Are they just being ironic ‘cause you don’t have any magic?” Henry asked.

“Probably.”

“Rude.”

“Agreed.”

“I don’t know who I am,” Henry said after a moment.  “I suspect it’ll become obvious as this adventure progresses.”

“Or more ambiguous.  Magic is rarely specific,” Blue said with a knowing tone.

“We’re still missing someone,” Adam said.  “The paper says a Court of _Six._  We only have five.”

“I don’t think we can fit another person in this backseat,” Blue said, wiggling her hips against the boys’ to demonstrate how tightly packed they already were.  “They’ll have to sit on Lynch’s lap.”

“I volunteer,” Henry yelled, raising his hand and waving it eagerly around the enclosed space.  “I’ll take one for the team!”

“I’ll eat you alive,” Ronan growled.

“Good thing I’m into that.”

Ronan turned a violent shade of red.  “Jesus _fuck-“_

“Ronan!”  Gansey swerved as he leaned over to grab his arm, barely stopping him from jumping from the Pig.  They were only going about ten miles per hour, but _still._  “Sit back down!”

“Fuck off, Dick.”

Adam leaned forward and grabbed the back of Ronan’s shirt, helping Gansey heave him back into his seat.  Gansey saw a fierce blush crawling up Ronan’s face, and he was once again struck by the knowledge that there was something between Ronan and the other boys in the car, something that had somehow escaped Gansey attention until now.  The knowledge that Ronan had a life outside of Gansey’s awareness was surreal and unsettling, hinting that he didn’t know Ronan nearly as well as he would have thought, even after all these years together.

“Overdramatic, much?” Blue asked, scowling at Ronan.

“I wasn’t actually going to jump,” Ronan said, slumping back into his seat.  “Jesus.”

“That makes it worse.”

Ronan flipped her off, and Gansey nervously continued driving toward Cabeswater, wondering if this was such a good idea after all.  Wondering if he’d been right to choose these people based on the zing of feeling in his heart when they’d met. Perhaps he should have been more strategic about tackling a doomsday prophecy.

But when it really came down to it, these people felt _right_ in a way he couldn’t quite articulate _._  While they were discordant now, incongruous with rough edges and sharp wit, Gansey felt potential blossom in the air when he was with them.  He felt like they were meant to grow together into something impossible, that they were meant for something more.

The knowledge that there was someone else out there destined to join them set his blood aflame.

_It’s starting, it’s starting, it’s starting._

They entered the woods in silence, and while Gansey would have liked to say that it was comfortable, he wasn’t quite that oblivious to the atmosphere.  Ronan was practically radiating discontent, Adam looked like he was growing more uncomfortable by the second, Henry was zoning out the window lost in thought, and Blue simply seemed grumpy.

Gansey flipped on the radio, expecting the ambient background music he’d had loaded into the CD player this morning, but a horrendous cacophony spewed forth at full blast instead, causing everyone in the car to cringe.  Everyone except one, who instead grinned widely at the ceiling.

“Goddamnit, Ronan!” Gansey yelled over the supposed music, fingers frantically flying over the buttons, suddenly too flustered to remember where the power button was.

“Oh, I love this song!” Henry yelled, bouncing his head in time to what passed as a beat.  “Murder Squash rules!”

“We can’t be friends anymore!” Blue yelled, leaning forward and turning the volume down.  The silence throbbed against Gansey’s ears, somehow both louder and more comfortable than earlier.  “I’m deleting both of you from Blue’s Official Friend List.”

“Oh, no.  The horror,” Ronan deadpanned.  “Whatever shall I do.”

“How will I go on without the great Blue’s blessing of friendship?” Henry asked, considerably more earnest, yet somehow just as sarcastic.  “How will I continue my meagre existence without the shining light of your presence in my life? Who else will bless me with acerbic sarcasm and drink all of my birthday champagne?”

“I hate all of you,” she said.  “Except Adam.”

“Hey,” Gansey said.  “I feel like I should be exempted too.”

“You turned it on.”

“By accident!”

Adam groaned, putting his head in his hands.  “I’m with Blue,” he said. “That hurt.”

“Oh shit, Adam,” Gansey said, completely ignoring road safety in order to crane his neck and look at the other boy.  “Your ear-“

“I’m fine, Gansey,” he said, shooting him a warning look, and Gansey reluctantly turned back around.  “It’s not that. That was just the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“What’s wrong with your ear?” Ronan asked.  Gansey had to wonder at the level of curiosity he must be feeling to actually _ask._

“None of your business,” Adam shot back, a level of venom in his voice that made Gansey glance at him again.  “It’s not important,” he said after a moment, clearly forcing himself to sound calmer than he actually was.

“Fuck, Gansey!  The road-“

Ronan grabbed the wheel, twisting it to the side, and Gansey slammed on the brakes even as he turned back to the front.  He saw a massive wall of glittering white, and then they were spinning, the Pig’s wheels sliding on the asphalt as the trees swirled around them in a tornado of darkness.

They slammed to a halt, and Gansey took a shaky breath, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.  Ronan did the same beside him, blue eyes bright with fear and adrenaline as they racked over Gansey, searching for injuries.

But he was fine, and so was Ronan.  They hadn’t crashed. Somehow. Maybe Ronan’s proclivities for street racing back in high school had come in handy after all.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked, voice quivering slightly as he realized he was still fighting for air.  They were parked firmly in the middle of the road, perpendicular to the flow of traffic, and Gansey didn’t realize he was correcting their placement until they were idling in the right lane, facing the opposite direction they’d been headed in just a moment ago.  Whatever they’d almost hit appeared to be gone, as the road ahead was desolate. He looked over his shoulder, visually confirming that everyone was unharmed since he seemed to have completely missed their verbal answers.

“What in the nine heavens is _that?”_ Henry asked, pressing against Ronan’s seat to get a better view.

Something moved in Gansey’s peripheral vision, in front of the car.  Something large and white and glowing.

“That,” Adam said quietly, sounding just as shaken as Gansey felt, “is The Beast.”

Gansey whipped back around so fast he felt the Camaro shake.  Standing directly in front of the Pig was the largest deer he had ever seen.  Easily twenty feet tall, the sight of it made his stomach drop out, equal parts fear and awe.  It was just as Adam said - glowing white fur woven from moonlight, with a subtle sheen of blue.  Small, silver butterflies fluttered around it, dancing in its glow. Moss and vines draped elegantly between its antlers, forming a natural crown of delicate, pale blooming flowers.

The Beast suddenly struck him as a wholly inaccurate name.  It was far too crude, too rough, too lacking for such a magnificent creature.  What stood in front of them contained all the delicacy of the moon and all the strength of the sun.   _The Beast_ simply didn’t come close to capturing it.

It looked at him, stark white eyes meeting his through the windshield, and Gansey found that he couldn’t breathe.  Its gaze bored into him, looking far past his physical appearance. Gansey felt a shiver run through his mind, his soul, through everything he was and everything he would ever be.  He felt himself pulled into that all-encompassing white expanse as it read him, judged him, measured him against what he needed to accomplish. For the moment he felt blank, peaceful, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that this soft, floating space within himself was akin to death.

Did this creature see the reason Glendower had saved him, all those years ago?  Did it understand why he was here, what his purpose was?

Would it tell him?

“I take back what I said about this being lame,” Blue whispered.

Her voice pulled him back to his body, and he blinked blearily at her through the rearview mirror, unsure of what, exactly, had just transpired.

“I think it wants us to follow it,” Henry said slowly.  “It? Them? I don’t know what pronouns to use for a giant magical forest manifestation.”  

Gansey shook his head slightly as he turned back to the front of the car, trying to clear the mental cobwebs.  The stag was looking pointedly toward a certain section of the forest off to their right, a little bit farther along the road.  It (They?) glanced back toward the car, stamping its (their?) foot impatiently before looking against toward the forest.

“Excelsior,” Gansey whispered, slowly pulling over to the side of the road and turning the Pig off before reaching for the door.

“What does that mean?” Blue asked.

“Onward and upward.”

“Ah,” she said, pushing against Henry’s shoulder to urge him to open his door faster.  “Such a fancy way of saying ‘We may die tonight, but at least we’ll die while on an adventure.’”

“No one’s dying tonight,” Gansey said, walking to the front of the car and watching the giant stag take a few steps toward the forest before fading from view.   _This way._

“Are you sure about this, Gansey?” Ronan asked, stepping up beside him.  “I’ve never seen anything like this.” Gansey could tell from his tone that he didn’t like it, and that he’d be perfectly happy if they decided to just get in the car and never stop driving.

“I think we have to go,” he said.  “Or I do, at least.”

Blue snorted loudly.  “You’re not the only one on this quest, almighty King.”

“All in favor of following the scary glowing forest god into its domain to face perils unknown?” Henry asked, raising his hand high in the air.  Everyone else followed suit with varying degrees of enthusiasm. “That settles that, then,” he said with a grin, gesturing for Gansey to take the lead.

Slowly, they made their way to the spot the the massive deer had disappeared.  Slower, using their phones as flashlights, they pushed into the woods, doing their best to follow the direction the deer had been pointing.

Gansey just hoped they weren’t about to stumble into something horrible.  Like, for instance, the corrupting evil foretold in the prophecy. That certainly wouldn’t be fun.

Swallowing his fear, he led them deeper into the woods.  

His Court, or most of it, anyway.

“Excelsior.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m just saying,” Noah said.  “I think it’d be a lot easier to find the car keys if we did this in the daytime.”

“As I’ve told you several times, I work during the daytime,” Barry said, ice in his voice.  

“Your last class ends at six,” he protested.  “At least there’s _some_ daylight left then.”  It was nearing eleven o’clock now, and the woods around them were thick with darkness.  There was no way they’d find the car keys like this, but Barry had been so stubborn earlier, refusing to leave before the clock hit ten-thirty.

The car keys were technically Noah’s, but Barry was always the one who drove the red Mustang.  He’d always complained about Noah’s driving, calling it erratic and unsafe, and Noah had eventually just given him the keys a few months ago.  It had seemed like the best option when compared to potentially crashing and hurting Barry. Besides, Noah’s car was a huge step above Barry’s old Honda Civic, and Barry was right when he said it would be selfish of Noah to keep it to himself.  Now Barry drove him everywhere, when he had the time, and while Noah missed the freedom of his car, he enjoyed the closeness that sharing a car brought to their relationship.

“The moon is full,” Barry said.  “We’ll be fine.”

“Weird stuff happens on the full moon here.  You know that.”

“We’ll be fine,” Barry repeated, a tone of finality to his voice.

They were walking through Cabeswater, at night, during a full moon.  Everything Noah had learned while living on this campus told him that this was a terrible idea.  But in the face of Barry’s potential happiness, what was a little bit of danger, really? Noah was willing to at least try it.  

Until they ran into something nasty, anyway.

Then he’d hightail it out of there on his board, dragging Barry along with him whether he liked it or not.

He knew it was impractical to bring his skateboard into the woods - it wasn’t like he could use it once they left the road, after all - but it felt good under his feet, even if he was currently confined to rolling along at Barry’s walking speed, rather than flying through the streets like he yearned to do.

Recently, he only felt truly alive when he was boarding.  Without the car, it was the only transportation he had. Barry complained about it, worried that Noah would hurt himself with it, but Noah refused to give it up.  There was something about the wind rolling through his hair, the vibrations under the soles of his Vans, the sharp sting of pain when he failed to nail a jump, that made his heart sing in a way nothing else did.  Not even his boyfriend.

Guilt rolled through him at the thought, and he snuck a sideways look at Barry, but he hadn’t noticed Noah’s traitorous thoughts.  Of course he hadn’t. That would have been impossible.

But stranger things had been known to happen on campus.  Especially when the moon was shining fully overhead and the woods were rusting on all sides despite the lack of wind.  Noah shrunk into his hoodie, wondering again why Barry was so adamant about coming out here tonight.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Noah said quietly

“Is it because of what the ghosts told you?” Barry asked, a mocking smirk to his voice.

Noah shrugged, knowing that Barry would only make fun of him if he gave an actual answer.  He’d told Barry about the ghosts’ warnings, if only so he knew that the old book might be dangerous, but Barry had shrugged Noah’s words off.  Noah still didn’t know what to think. He’d dismissed the ghosts words easily during the light of day, and Barry had made the whole thing seem silly, but their warnings about the full moon seemed much more urgent when standing under it.

“It’s dark and creepy,” he said instead.  “And you know there are coyotes and shit out here.  I got an email saying some guys ran into a pack a few nights ago.”

“I’m sure the school just made that up to keep everyone from partying out here.  They did the same thing when I was in undergrad.”

“Yeah,” Noah said uncertainly.  “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am.”  Barry stopped suddenly, peering closely at the trees on their right.  “Here’s the path. C’mon.”

The path to the clearing was a small one, easy to miss even if you were looking, but Barry strolled into the trees like he’d been there hundreds of times before.  Noah’s heart hammered in his chest as Barry faded from sight, and he wondered when exploring campus had stopped being fun. Last year, they’d been making out while they poked around empty buildings, getting drunk on rooftops, messing around with ouija boards in cluttered, slightly creepy basements.  That was a far cry from running through haunted woods at night, but Noah was anything but unwilling to follow along when Barry got it in his mind to go exploring.

Barry wanting to poke around an old, magical clearing hadn’t been particularly concerning in the daylight.  The fact that he’d had an ancient book written in some strange language hadn’t even been that weird - he _was_ a Latin graduate student, after all.  It was probably just an ancient dialect or something, and it was presumably going to help Barry make the line stronger, so it was fine.  Probably.

But now, returning there in the dead of night?  During a full moon? It was something else entirely, especially after the ghosts had warned him to be wary tonight.

“Man, I really don’t want to go in there,” Noah said, standing just outside the treeline.  “Can’t we just, like, go watch some Netflix in my room or something? This’d be so much easier in the daylight.”

Barry turned around, and Noah swore he saw a flash of red light in his eyes before it was lost to the darkness.  But that was stupid. Human eyes didn’t do that, not outside of photographs.

“Are you really going to make me do this alone?” Barry asked, scorn dripping from his voice.  “What if something happens?”

Noah didn’t know if he meant that in a “you’ll miss out,” or a “you’ll never forgive yourself” sort of way, but in either case he knew Barry was right.  Barry was always right. Noah couldn’t leave him alone. Barry would never forgive him, and then Noah would never be able to forgive himself.

“Fine,” he said, forcing a weak smile as he tucked his skateboard under his arm.  “But you owe me dinner.”

Barry snorted as he turned on his flashlight.  “That won’t be a problem.”

“Somewhere fancy, too, where I’m gonna get shamed for not knowing which spoon is for the soup.  And they have to serve 12-course meals, like in those period romance movies we always watch in English classes.”

“I said it wouldn’t be a problem,” Barry said, his icy tone instantly making Noah shrink back into his hoodie, guilt seeping into his bones.  

He’d only been trying to make a joke to loosen the stiffness spreading through his bones as they pushed deeper into the woods, but of course Barry wouldn’t take it well.  He didn’t have money anymore, not since his dad got caught embezzling a few years ago. He should have remembered Barry’s student loan debts, his car payments, his apartment rent.  He should have remembered that money wasn’t a funny subject to everyone.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly.  “I didn’t mean it like that. I can treat you instead.”

“Whatever, Czerny,” Barry said.  “It’s not important.”

“It is, though,” he muttered.  It mattered to Barry, so it mattered to Noah.  But Noah knew that Barry wouldn’t want to talk about it yet - or ever, really - so he let the subject drop lest it developed into a bigger argument.  

Noah didn’t even know what he was arguing for, really.  He rarely did anymore.

They continued along the trail in silence, the discomfort growing heavier within him until he was simply trudging along behind Barry, continuing on only so the night could end faster.  As they approached the clearing, the air seemed to grow colder, and Noah huddled in his hoodie for warmth, tucking his skateboard under his arm so he could bundle his hands in the kangaroo pocket.

The clearing opened up around them, but the trees overhead only seemed to lean farther into the space, completely enveloping the sky and blocking out the moonlight.  Something howled in the distance, unidentifiable but undeniably hungry. When the wind blew just right, Noah swore it sounded like whispered warnings. _Stay away, turn back, leave now while you still can…_

_Be wary on the night of the full moon._

Noah pushed it all down.  There was nothing to be wary of here except for coyotes, and he figured he could scare them off by swinging his board around and yelling really loud.  This place might have been magic, but magic had to be awoken, and neither he nor Barry knew how to do that, even if they’d wanted to.

They were here to find the car keys.  That was all.

Simple.

“Where do you think you dropped them?” Noah asked, frowning as he surveyed the clearing.  Empty beer cans and used condoms littered the perimeter, and he wasn’t looking forward to poking around too closely.  

“Check toward the center,” Barry said, rooting around in his bag.  “Maybe around the stump.” He pulled out the creepy Latin book, flipping through it while holding the flashlight in his mouth.

“That’s not gonna help us find the keys,” Noah said, but Barry only shot him a viscous glare before turning back to the book.

This used to be fun.  Why wasn’t this fun anymore?

Noah sighed to himself, pulling out his phone and shining the flashlight around as he wandered toward the middle of the clearing, approaching it in a loose spiral pattern.  His search yielded an alarming amount of litter, and Noah resolved to return later with a few trash bags to clean it up a little. It was clearly a popular place to get drunk, but the experience would definitely improve if everyone didn’t have to worry about falling on broken glass.  Besides, if this place was important to the ghosts, then Noah figured they’d appreciate it if it looked a little nicer.

He set his skateboard against the stump before scrambling up, hoping that the higher ground would gain him a better vantage point.  He saw all sorts of shiny things glinting in his phone’s light, but upon jumping down and poking at them, none of them turned out to be the car keys.

He clambered back onto the stump, taking a moment to look at the sky.  The moon was bright as the stars danced around it, bathing Noah in a ghostly glow.  He could definitely see why this place was popular with both the dead and the living.  For a moment, this place felt just as magical as he imagined the Convergence should.

He still hadn’t found the car keys, though.

“I got nothing!” he called, turning toward where he’d left Barry, only to find him standing a few feet away, skateboard in one hand, book in the other.  “Oh,” he started. “Thanks.”

Barry smiled, teeth flashing out from a face caked in shadow as he jumped up onto the stump.  The book dropped onto the stump, opening to a page full of strange diagrams and stranger words.  Barry raised the board into the air. Noah reached for it, stomach clenching in confusion as he realized Barry wasn’t holding it out, wasn’t holding it at all.  He was wielding it, almost like a baseball bad, like a weapon-

“No, Noah,” he said, eyes flashing red again, there and gone in an instant.  “Thank you.”

“Barry, what-“

His cheek exploded in pain, and everything flared a blinding white as he lost himself.  His mind slid sideways, struggling to escape, but the pain convulsing through him kept him pinned to the ground.  No, not the ground. The stump.

When had he fallen?

The wind tickled his nose as he blinked, nausea rolling through him as his vision rocked and spun, blurred to the point of near blindness.  Had his contact come out, or had his eye-

His hands gripped the smooth wood of the stump, digging desperately for purchase, trying to pull him away even as he was struggling to figure out what exactly he was running from.

His vision focused on the stained wood underneath him, and he realized with a sickening lurch that it wasn’t from old leaves or rain.  It was blood, his blood, seeping into the dead tree in the same spattered patterns, draining him, feeding the tree and the line-

Vaguely, he was aware of Barry standing over him, Noah’s own skateboard raised above his head again, but it had to be a mistake, it _had_ to be a mistake-

 _Be wary,_ they’d said.

He’d never imagined he’d have to be wary of Barry.

Something cracked, split, ruptured within him, bleeding over everything he’d ever known and trusted.  Someone yelled, but Noah couldn’t push through the pain and confusion to tell it it was himself or not.  

All he knew was that he didn’t want to die.

Barry was giving Noah’s life to the line.

Noah was a sacrifice.

Was that all he was?

Something white danced in the corner of his vision as the skateboard came down again, slicing through the air, and Noah closed his eyes.  He didn’t have the energy for anything else.

He just wanted this nightmare to be over.

 

* * *

 

 Adam trailed behind the others as they followed The Beast through the forest, wondering when his life had gotten so weird.  It hadn’t been last week when he’d met Gansey. No, that would be too easy an answer. Gansey just seemed to be a catalyst, a gatherer of all things strange and magical.

The truth was, Adam’s life had always been weird.

It was weird that he’d learned to tell at a glance the sorts of lies a stranger would gratefully swallow.  It was weird that he knew exactly what combination of vending machine food could sustain him for months at a time.  It was weird that he could read anger in the air like a carrion bird could smell death.

Weird was the polite word for it all, anyway.

Honestly, he thought he’d prefer this new version of weird, where potentially terrifying things were to be followed, explored, poked at, rather than fled from.  It struck him as a brave outlook on life, and while Adam didn’t feel particularly inclined toward it himself, he found that he was fond of it all the same.

He wondered if he might be able to grow fond of the others as well, given enough time.  Gansey with his winning smile and hidden enthusiasm, Blue with her fierce snark and bright plumage, Henry with his steady optimism and aggressively friendly demeanor.  And Ronan, with his surly glares and sharp tongue and his secret crush on Adam.

Adam wondered if he would fit here, like he had failed to fit anywhere else.  

They had found the path that The Beast had wanted them to take fairly quickly - a small, wandering game trail that was easy to lose in the darkness.  It was slow going, even with a few phone flashlights to illuminate their way. Twice now, they had rounded a bend only to find The Beast on the other side, staring at them and stamping its foot impatiently.

Adam didn’t know what they were hurrying to, but he was a little surprised to find that he was curious, rather than dreadful.  Fear had no place in him even though, logically, it should.

The Beast had never scared him.  Neither had ghosts or monsters or any of the other strange things woven into Aglionby’s magic.  It was all too strange, too unknowable, for that. Adam had lived with fear for far too long to bother being afraid of the unknown.  Pessimism told him that whatever lurked in the darkness could be worse than what he’d already dealt with, but pragmatism told him that he’d survive, anyway.  He always did.

The Beast appeared once more, standing in the threshold of a clearing with an expression of relief before it dissolved into rolling clouds of fog.  Gansey, in front, stopped for a second, glancing back at the others.

“I think this is it,” he said softly.  The wind rustled the canopy overhead, as though in agreement.

“Isn’t this the Ritual Site?” Henry asked, lifting himself on tiptoes and slinging his arms over Ronan so he could peer over Ronan’s shoulder.  “We used to come here to drink, but the place is a dump.”

“What, not classy enough for you?” Ronan asked with a sneer, roughly shrugging Henry off.

“Exactly so.”

“This is a place of power,” Gansey said, still holding himself on the edge of the clearing.  “Possibly the strongest in the area.”

“What does that mean?” Adam asked.  All he’d ever heard of the Ritual Site was from Gansey’s radio show - the rumors of satanic cults and blood sacrifices, and the more verifiable truth of Wiccan meetings and drunken shenanigans.  There was nothing there to suggest actual power, actual purpose.

“Do you know what a ley line is?” Gansey asked.  Adam shrugged. “They’re lines of energy that run underneath the earth, usually connecting important geographical features like large cities, places of worship, or important historical sites.  Aglionby rests on the line, and I believe it runs right through this clearing.”

“Lines,” Blue said.  “There are two of them.

Adam watched as Gansey blinked, speechless.  As Ronan scowled.

_“Two?”_

“Two,” Blue repeated.  “It’s called the Convergence.  My family comes here sometimes for difficult rituals.  Calla says it’s loud, sometimes, but not as loud as it used to be.”

“So the energy, what, builds off of itself here?” Adam asked

Gansey nodded, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip.  “Amplification,” he said. “This makes so much sense. I always wondered why the energy spikes weren’t linear, but if there are _two-”_

“The lines are busted, though,” Ronan said, kicking a rock like it had personally offended him.  “Dried up. There ain’t shit here anymore.”

“And yet we just followed a giant glowing deer here,” Gansey said, voice bright with enthusiasm, either ignoring or missing the fact that Ronan knew about the duplicate ley lines.  “There’s some magic left, and it’s trying to tell us something.”

“Let’s go, then,” Blue said impatiently.  “We’re not going to find anything by standing around and talking.”

“A fair enough point,” Gansey said, pausing for a brief second before finally stepping into the clearing.

It didn’t look like anything special, to Adam’s eyes.  Small and almost perfectly round, he could easily take the entire litter-strewn area in at a glance.  The only defining feature seemed to be the large tree stump in the center, ivy winding around its knobby sides as it was lit by a single beam of moonlight.  It was tall - maybe four feet in height - and easily wide enough to stand on. Adam could easily imagine it functioning as an alter of sorts, or maybe a stage.

The only other thing of interest were the two figures standing on top of the stump.  In the low light, Adam couldn’t make much out, but it looked like one was holding something long and flat, raising it above his head, swinging it down down down toward the other figure’s head-

“Oh, shit,” Henry said, taking off across the clearing, Blue and Ronan right on his heels.  “Hey!” he yelled as one figure fell and the other raised the object again. “Hey, man, what the fu-“  Henry cut off, diving out of the way as the figure flung the object toward him.

Gansey took off after them and Adam followed, watching as the figure sprinted away, headed for the shelter of the trees.  Adam took in what he could - tall, skinny, wide shoulders and pale skin and dark hair - before they (he?) reached the tree line.

Ronan kept going, swinging around the stump as he gave chase, but Blue skid to a stop and clambered up next to a darkened lump on the dead wood.  The other figure. “Someone call an ambulance!” she yelled a second later, voice pitched in panic.

“What’s wrong?” Gansey asked at the same time Henry yelled, “What’s happening?”  He was sitting up only a few feet from Blue, scrambling up to join them..

“I think we just saw a murder,” Adam said as they reached the others.  Blue was kneeling next to a small boy lying in the fetal position, his blonde hair streaked with blood.  The details struck Adam in snapshots, the briefest of flashes as his eyes darted over the boy. An arm curled loosely above his head, unable to fully hide where he’d been struck.  A nasty gash along the left side of his face, the bone beneath sunken unnaturally inward. The uneven, panicked movement of his chest as he fought for air. “Or an attempted one, at least.”

He wondered if it was just the boy’s cheekbone that was broken, or if the damage extended to parts that Adam couldn’t see.  To the nose, the eye socket, maybe even the brain itself.

He should have been horrified, outraged, sick to his stomach; but all he felt was a numbness sinking through him and blocking everything else out.

“Jesus,” Gansey said, pulling out his phone.

“What do we do?” Blue asked.  “I don’t know what to do.”

Adam stood beside the boy’s head, Henry quickly moving in beside him.  The boy’s eyelids fluttered weakly, but he didn’t wake, and Adam found himself grateful for it.  How often had he pictured himself like this, lying broken and forgotten on the ground? Had he looked like this when his father had beaten himself senseless, when he’d deafened Adam’s left ear?

“Elevate his feet,” he told Henry as Gansey’s chatter filled the air, explaining the situation to a 911 operator.  His own voice was distant and filled with static, but Gansey’s somehow managed to pierce the fog settling over his mind.  “Keep them above his heart. Try not to move him, otherwise. And we need something to staunch the bleeding.”

Adam fingered the hem of his jacket, knowing he should use it as bandages, or at least throw it over the boy for warmth, but bloodstains weren’t easy to remove and this was the only jacket he owned.

He felt sick with himself.  What kind of person actually debated between a piece of clothing and a living, breathing human who might not be living and breathing for much longer?

Something hit him in the back of the head, and Adam flinched forward before realizing that it was soft and warm, not dangerous.  He pulled the bundle off of him, staring blankly at the large, formless hoodie.

Ronan’s.  For the boy.

He spread it over the boy’s shaking form as Blue ripped off one of her many layers and pressed the makeshift bandage over the wound on the boy’s face.  She grew about ten shades paler, and for a second Adam feared she would pass out, but she thankfully held firm.

“You lost him?” Gansey asked, and Adam heard Ronan’s grunt of acknowledgement.  

The boy started twitching beneath his touch, whimpering in pain as the shaking increased.  His arms and legs spasmed frantically, slapping against both the ground and the others.

“He’s having a seizure,” Adam said, voice hitching as his breath caught in his chest.  This wasn’t good. This was very much not good. “Gansey, tell the 911 people that he’s having a seizure.”  Quickly, he slipped off his jacket and wadded it up, carefully sliding it under the boy’s head to keep it from slamming against the stump.  He held two fingers to the side of the boy’s neck, feeling his pulse flutter against Adam’s skin. Beyond that, he didn’t know what else they could do until the EMTs managed to trek out here.

“Hey!” Ronan suddenly yelled, head craned upward toward the sky, making Adam flinch again.  “I’ve got some questions for you, you giant fucking fairy glow stick! Get the fuck back out here!”  A beat passed, and the forest was silent except for the boy’s labored breathing. Adam figured his nose was probably broken, after all.  “You’re the fucking manifestation of the Convergence, right? The protector of Cabeswater? Well this kid is dying in your domain and I want to make a goddamned deal with you!”

“Ronan, _don’t,”_ Gansey hissed, coving the phone with one hand.  “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know he’s going to die,” Ronan growled, pointing at the boy.  He wasn’t wrong. Even now, Adam could feel the boy’s pulse grow weaker as he struggled for breath through the damage, the seizure, the shock.  “I know I’m not going to let that happen.” Ronan lifted his head to the sky again, volume raised in tandem. “I’m the son of the last Caretaker!  I am favored by the line! Get your pansy ass back out here and face me!”

“Uh,” Henry said.  “Ronan? I think it head you.”  Adam watched as a mist gathered a dozen yards off, slowly rising and solidifying into The Beast’s glowing form.  The deer peered down at them, white eyes filled with the unfathomable. It wasn’t bothered by the life slowly leaking out of the boy in front of him, or in their efforts to stop it.  But it had led them there for a reason, and Adam didn’t know what else it could be, if not saving this boy. “Maybe be nicer to the giant forest god so it doesn’t squish us all, yeah?”

“It can bite my ass,” Ronan said, stalking forward, seemingly undaunted by the fact that he only came up to The Beast’s knee.  “I need to make a fucking deal with you, you piece of shit Bambi knockoff.”

The wind whipped around them, the trees around the clearing leaning and creaking in tandem with one another.  If Adam listened hard enough, he could just make out words, as dry and crumbling as the leaves rotting on the forest floor.

_State your terms, young one._

“You need a Caretaker,” he said.  “It’s been more than five years. Your energy is failing - you can barely hold your form, even with someone’s lifeblood draining into you and this fucking battery of a maggot here, right in the heart of everything.”  Adam had no idea what that meant, but Blue’s face scrunched up, so he figured it had something to do with her. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your Caretaker, if you save this kid’s life.”

_We do not accept._

“Why the fuck not?”

_It is in your blood, young one, but not in your heart.  Not yet._

“What the fuck does that mean?”

_You are not what we need.  You are not enough._

“What, so you’re just going to let him die?” Ronan asked, voice cracking, shoulders shaking.  Crying, Adam realized. He’d never before thought of Ronan Lynch as someone who cried, but then he’d never thought much of Ronan Lynch before hearing his voice on the radio.  “You’re just going to do _nothing?”_

_It is not our decision to make._

Adam looked down at the boy convulsing, dying, beneath his fingers, and for a moment he saw himself there.  A gaunt brown boy with dusty clay hair and light blue eyes curled into the fetal position, clutching at his ear, too dizzy with confusion to fully understand what had happened.  Too tired and heaving with fear to think about running, to try and stop the blows that followed, to wonder why none of the neighbors bothered calling the police.

Adam looked down at himself, and wondered why no one had ever helped him.

He looked to Blue, and Henry, and Gansey, all doing what they could for this kid that no one knew.  He looked to Ronan, arguing - _begging_ \- the magic of the forest to save him, to help in some way.  Everyone was fighting. Everyone except for Adam.

He looked down at himself, but instead saw the boy, small and pale and dying beneath him.  And Adam was standing aside, just as those who had seen him suffer through his life stood aside.  Because it was easier. Because it was safer.

In that moment, Adam hated the world that had let him suffer, but most of all he hated himself.

He didn’t want to be anything like them.

“I’ll do it,” Adam said, standing up and turning toward The Beast.  “I’ll do it, if you’ll have me. If you’ll keep him alive.”

He couldn’t change the past, couldn’t help his younger self when no one else would, but maybe, just maybe, he could help this boy here, now, right in front of him.  Maybe he could manage to be what his younger self had always needed, by being what this boy needed now.

Adam climbed up onto the stump, standing tall as the wind whipped and swirled around him.  He still had to look up to meet The Beast’s eyes, but at least they were on more even ground, now.  The boy shook beneath him, beside him, within him, and Adam hoped he was making the right choice.

“Well?” he asked, staring upward with a confidence he didn’t really feel, spreading his arms to the sides.  Open. Vulnerable. “Will I do?”

_Yes._

“Fuck you!” Ronan yelled.  “He doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to!”

_Then explain it to him, young one.  As your mother explained it to you. Help him.  Guide him. That is your place in this bargain._

The Beast turned toward Adam, then, kneeling down in front of him so they were eye-to-eye.  Its gaze transcended time itself, and Adam felt dizzy just thinking about how many eons this creature had lived, how many more it would continue to live.  He shouldn’t have mattered to it in the least, should have been less significant than an ant, and yet here it was, kneeling in front of him. Looking at him like he was important, like he _mattered._

Like it saw him, all of him, and accepted him anyway.

The Beast closed its eyes and leaned forward, and Adam lifted his hands, running his fingers through fur so soft it almost didn’t register.  He guided The Beast forward, closing his own eyes as their foreheads connected.

A spark ran through him, starting from where they touched and running along every nerve in his body.  It burned hot, bright, like lightning striking him, and for just a moment he understood what it felt like to be more than just himself.

Then he was falling, falling, falling through the darkness, collapsing on the stump and blinking up in confusion as The Beast dissolved once more into fog.

_It is done._

There was a beat of silence.

Another.

“Adam?”

Gansey’s voice was quiet in the night, as soft as it was afraid.

“I’m okay,” he said, running his hand along the grain of the stump before moving it to his hair.  His limbs felt heavy in a way they hadn’t since high school, since he’d had to work sixteen-hour shifts of manual labor just to survive.  He hoped this wasn’t permanent. “I think I’m okay.”

He didn’t know what he had just done, what had just been done to him, but he hoped that that much was true, at least.

“Is he okay?” Adam finally remembered to ask, looking down at the boy.  His head rested only inches from Adam’s hand, and he resisted the urge to stroke his hair.  He looked so small, so innocent. Adam wondered if he had ever looked like that or if he’d been born broken and jaded.

“The seizure stopped,” Henry said.  “When you, uhhh-” he waved his hand vaguely in the air, and Adam thought that was as a fair description as anything he could come up with.  “That’s good, right?”

“It’s something,” Gansey said, gazing at Adam, eyes full of wonder.  Adam tried not to shrink back from the warmth, the awe. Gansey didn’t understand what he was saying.  He couldn’t. “It sure is something.”

“I think the EMTs are here,” Blue said, nodding toward the flashlight beams bouncing up the path.  “Hopefully the police, too.”

“It’ll be okay,” Gansey said, reaching to steady Adam as he clambered down from the stump.  He tried not to feel ungrateful as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him, forcing him to accept the help.  “It’ll all be okay.”

Adam had a feeling Gansey was talking about more than just tonight.  He meant the prophecy, the words referencing sacrifice and death and loss.  Standing over the boy’s body and his promise to the ley line still sparking through him, the psychics’ words seemed much more real than they had only minutes ago.  More real, and more dangerous.

 _It’s starting,_ he thought.   _Whatever this is, it’s starting._

Or, more accurately, it had already started.

Adam only knew one thing for sure.  This wasn’t going to be easy.

Nothing ever was.


End file.
